


Thy Fearful Symmetry

by an_ardent_rain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Big Bang Challenge, Case Fic, Community: deancasbigbang, F/M, M/M, Road Trips, Romance, tigerstiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-11
Updated: 2012-10-11
Packaged: 2017-11-16 02:17:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 38,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/534381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/an_ardent_rain/pseuds/an_ardent_rain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Goes AU after the end of S5. When Castiel gets Sam from hell, his soul comes with him, unscathed. But Cas isn't so lucky. Sam joins Dean at Lisa and Ben's, tells him what happens, and they go off to find their friend. When they finally track him down, Cas, depowered and almost human, joins Sam and Dean on a road trip to restore his tattered grace and learn something about hunting in the process. Story is episodic, with elements of case!fic and a lot of UST. Also Cas dreamwalks a lot, and visits Dean as a tiger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thy Fearful Symmetry

**Author's Note:**

> -Written for the 2012 Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge on LJ. My artist was frayed1989. If you have time, you can check out the art [here](http://justdepends.livejournal.com/15112.html).

Sometimes Castiel looks like Jimmy Novak when he visits Dean’s dreams. Usually he does, actually; always when Dean’s dreaming on his own, and a lot of the time when Cas comes dreamwalking. But there are some times, other times when it’s like they’re both dreaming, or when Cas isn’t in complete control, when he’s something else - some... _thing_.

The prayer is accidental; it’s just been a shitty day, with no word from Cas, still hearing nothing about Sam - and knowing that he _never fucking would_ \- and it’s not something that he can talk to Lisa about, it’s not something he can talk to anyone about. He hadn’t slept well the night before and he might have gotten a little snappy with Ben over something that, in retrospect, wasn’t really a big deal. He’d gotten it from Lisa, which only made him feel worse because he knew he screwed up, and he’d already been berating himself. He eats supper that night away from Lisa and Ben, then gets into the shower and almost busts his ass when he trips on his own shirt, and then downs a beer and hobbles into bed. 

And he tries not to think about anything, tries to empty his mind so he can just lose consciousness for a few precious hours and not have to deal with this shit anymore. It doesn’t work. So he falls asleep pointedly not thinking about his brother and not so not-thinking about Cas. So when the last discernible thought he has is a quick, tortured _goddamnit, Cas_ it’s really not surprising - and not his fault, either - when he winds up dreaming about the guy. Or dreaming with the guy. That’s the part he’s not so clear on.

He knows he’s dreaming when he comes to in a dark, unfamiliar forest. He’s dressed in the same clothes he’d been wearing earlier that day - minus his boots. His feet are bare for whatever reason and the dirt is cool underneath him. After a second or two of looking around, trying to get his bearings, he still isn’t sure where he is, but there’s something familiar about the forest, something that he knows, that calls out to him, deep down. But he can’t put his finger on what. He knows, somehow, that he’s supposed to be on a hunt. Werewolves, he realizes suddenly, though he isn’t sure how he knows He’s had these kind of dreams before, but they always turn out badly. Maybe he’ll be able to do something right this time around; maybe the hunt’ll go well. That’s pretty pathetic, actually, and Dean would maybe like something more interesting to dream about than what’s essentially been his career for nearly all his life. Sex, maybe. That’d be nice.

But of course because it’s been a shitty day and asking for respite in his dreams is just too fucking much, the ground around him starts to shake. He hears something, low and far away, something he can’t quite make out. It’s enough to make him alert and after a quick pat down he’s disappointed to find he doesn’t have a weapon on him. He looks around trying to get a bead on what’s around him, what could be making that noise, but he can’t see anything other than the trees. Which seem to be closing in on him, the darkness threading through the thick trunks like it’s a tangible thing, a real _thing_ , not just the absence of light. 

Dean’s starting to more urgently consider finding a way the fuck out of the forest when he hears the sound again - and it’s louder this time, and unmistakably a growl.

“Shit,” he says, looking over his shoulder as he bounds forward. He can’t see what it is, and maybe there’s that hunter’s instinct, always right on the surface, telling him to find out if it’s chasing him before he runs the fuck away - but there’s a stronger instinct, something he’s not sure is natural, that might be in him just because of the dream, or that might not be _in_ him at all but _around_ him that is telling him to run: telling him that for whatever creature is out there, he is prey.

So he listens, because he might be a stubborn asshole but he’s not stupid. 

He picks up the pace, ignores the rough ground on his bare feet, only daring to look behind him once. Once is enough. There are two huge glowing eyes, colored a deep, shimmering gold, closing in much faster than he can run. He turns back, cursing to himself, pushing harder, nearly tripping over his own feet as he runs deeper and deeper into the forest.

He’d found himself in an area almost like a clearing, with trees spaced farther apart around him. But now, as he runs down a path of thick grass, the trees are closing in, getting thicker and thicker until he has to start weaving around them. Another roar comes from behind him, even louder, even closer, and he knows it won’t be long until the beast catches up with him. It’s desperation that fuels him forward, not any sort of false hope: he knows he can’t outrun it, and he doesn’t have anything to defend himself against it. All he can do is keep going.

So that’s what he does, running so fast he can hardly feel the ground, so fast his lungs ache with a sharp, chilly pain. But it’s not enough. The creature closes in so that he can feel - or at least he imagines he can feel - the beast’s hot breath, wet on the back of his neck. His whole body trembles with the force of another growl, and he manages three more strides before something soft and heavy knocks him to the ground. He falls face-first and tumbles forward from the momentum. Whatever’s been chasing him is on top of him now, heavy and large. It pushes him onto his back; Dean tries to defend himself, raising his arms over his face. He tries to focus enough to get a good look at it - and that’s when he finally sees what it is. 

It’s a giant tiger, larger than any tiger Dean had ever seen, with thick fur in a rich, gilded orange striped with swathes of dark, sinuous black. Dean wants to touch it - then immediately tells himself he doesn’t, but that first spark is still there, and something inside him aches to see a creature so beautiful and so terrible. He shouldn’t be able to see it that clearly, the forest is too dark - but something is giving off light. It’s the tiger itself, he realizes suddenly, glowing so brightly that it almost hurts to look at it.

The tiger stands, its tail - as thick as his arm - twitching behind it. But that’s all it does. Dean thought he’d be dead already, without even a chance to take in what was happening, but as his breathing slows down and he takes stock of the situation he realizes that... there’s no immediate danger.

 _But there has to be_ , he thinks frantically; he was just certain that he was this thing’s next meal, and suddenly he’s squaring off with it like they’re about to have a fucking conversation or something. He shakes his head hard, but the eerie, disconcerting feelings don’t fade. 

He’s sitting there, torn between getting up and running or just sitting there and hoping the tiger forgets about him, when suddenly the tiger moves. It’s just a small step forward, but Dean can still sense intent behind the movement. The tiger growls again, low and deep in its throat.

“What the fuck,” Dean shouts, scooting backwards on his ass. Because he _understood_. Because even though it wasn’t language and there weren’t any words, he knows he was called, he knows he was _named_. That thing said his name.

The trees that were around them have suddenly cleared, somehow, and they’re in a round, open area, with forest so thick surrounding it Dean can no longer see the path. The tiger growls again, but this time the sound feels more familiar, almost like the tiger is speaking to him. It growls again: _Deeeeeeeeean_.

He can’t hear it, not really, he only hears the growl - but he knows what the tiger is saying, can feel it, can understand in his head what it means for him to hear. 

_Dean_.

Dean swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. “Uh...”

That seems to be enough of a recognition for the tiger, because it leans back for a moment on its haunches and then launches itself at him. There isn’t much distance to travel, so it barrels at him full force, knocking him powerfully into the ground. Dean loses his breath, but doesn’t have time to think about it because the next moment the tiger has bared its huge, sharp teeth and raises one enormous paw. It growls again and swipes at him, tearing three lines across his chest. The skin opens and Dean can see blood, but strangely enough there’s not any feeling he’d describe as pain. There’s a burning sensation, a white-hot feeling so intense it almost hurts, but he doesn’t think that the tiger’s intention is to kill him. It might not even be to hurt him, because when it reaches towards him again it just tears his shirt away.

_DeanDeanDeanDeanDeanDeanDeanIFoundYouISavedYouIKnowYou_

The feeling intensifies and Dean’s eyes shut involuntarily. The tiger’s thoughts are hard to hear, harder still to make any sense of, but they are familiar all the same. They feel safe.

It tears his jeans away, too, and with what last shred of coherency is left to him Dean thinks maybe he dreamed himself without boots because boots would be too hard for a tiger to remove. Then he’s stripped and bared, his skin in shreds from the tiger’s claws, laying on the cool dirt, the furry body hot as fire above him.  
It feels like he’s been unwrapped, like he’s been taken out of some sort of shell. He can’t see what the tiger is doing, but it feels like it’s peeling his skin away. But it still doesn’t hurt.

 _Dean_ , it thinks deliberately, _I have him. I have found him. I have raised him as I once raised you._

Dean’s not sure what it’s talking about, and it’s hard to even form what it’s thinking into understandable words because of whatever it’s doing to him. He feels raw and he’s terrified to open his eyes, because maybe his skin really _will_ be gone, and all he’ll see when he looks at himself is blood and the raw, interior muscle. God, he almost wants to die.

Except then, right when that white-hot feeling reaches its peak and he starts to feel pain like he thought he could only imagine - like pain he might have felt once in the pit - something abruptly turns. He can almost feel the switch, as though whatever sensation was heading towards pain suddenly stopped and headed in the opposite direction. The tiger makes a low, rumbling sound like a purr, and then instead of continuing to scratch and bite at him, it suddenly starts licking. Dean can feel the rough, flat texture of its tongue and it’s pleasure like he has never known it. 

He screams, the feeling almost too much to bear. The tiger keeps at it, until suddenly he starts to feel... covered up. That’s the only way he can describe it, his mind wiped out from overwhelming feeling, his nerve endings raw and his body wracked with what feels like it might turn out to be the world’s weirdest orgasm. The scratchy tongue is sewing him back together, regrowing the skin its owner only just tore apart. Dean tries to scream again, but his throat won’t work, and all that comes out is a burbling sort of gasp. The tongue is at his face now, and Dean’s writhing underneath the tiger, his arms and legs twitching spasmodically, out of his control. It remakes his mouth, and it tells him it is a beautiful mouth. It reshapes its cheeks and marvels at their smoothness. It rebuilds his nose and he breathes in deep, and the tiger’s scent is rich and musty, a warm, earthy smell that makes his sinuses burn. And then the tongue licks at his eyes and he feels his lids reform, and then it licks his eyes open, and he sees it - really sees it, he thinks - for the first time.

And its eyes are a razor-sharp, sapphire blue, and as it thinks at him _Dean_ , and then again, firmer, with more purpose _Dean_ , he realizes he knows this tiger, this being, this fucking stupid, beautiful angel, and he thinks _Castiel... Castiel... Cas... Cas Cas Cas Cas cascascascascascas_ until he is undone.

And in possibly the most embarrassing moment of his life, he comes, striping his belly and probably the tiger's, too.

When he regains his senses - _and what the fuck? he thinks, did I pass out?_ \- the tiger, no Castiel, he reminds himself, Cas has turned himself into a fucking tiger, is just sitting there staring at him. It licks its lips once and its tail flicks behind it. Dean sits up. And the tiger thinks, urgently, _I did it, Dean. He is coming. He is safe. But I am weakened. I can't..._ It growls, but this time out of pain, not because it's trying to communicate. _Dean_ , it thinks at him, and the world has starting growing fuzzy, spinning around him, _Dean! It's Sam... Sam!_

And then Dean wakes up.

He sits up in bed with a jolt, yelling something incoherent, trying to bring Cas back, trying to get him to explain. He’s panting, the blanket pooled around his waist, when Lisa lays one hand on his arm. 

“Dean?” she asks, her voice muzzy with interrupted sleep. “Is everything all right? Another nightmare?”

Dean shakes his head quickly, half-grateful that Lisa hadn’t been so pissed at him that she’d woken him up and made him go sleep on the couch. “I think I fucked a tiger,” he spits out, so quickly that he can hardly understand the words himself.

Lisa gives him a worried look, her brows furrowed together. “What? Dean... What are you talking about? Are you sure you’re all right?”

Her hair is soft and messy around her face, and one strap of her top has fallen down the smooth slope of her shoulder. Her hand is warm and the sensations of her bedroom, familiar, start to ground him. Since it was Cas, it probably didn’t really count as beastiality anyway. At least not for him. But maybe for angels it was different, or... 

Christ, he thinks, scrubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands. What kind of dream was that? Was it real? Has Cas really come to him as... as _that_? He’s just thinking how fucking strange the whole thing was, when suddenly it hits him, Cas’s last words. Sam.

 _Sam_!

“Sam,” he blurts out, and that makes Lisa sit up, too, putting a gentle arm around him. “I... I had a dream about Sam,” he explains, feeling suddenly foolish, though he isn’t quite sure why. 

Concern colors her expression and it’s clear that she wants to comfort him. But everything - the news of Sam possibly... _being_ , and the weird feelings the Cas-tiger made him feel - make him suddenly reluctant to accept it.

Dean stumbles out of bed. “I’m going down to make breakfast,” he says. “Sorry to, uh, wake you up.”

“Okay.” Lisa just gives him a little smile. “Thanks, I’m hungry.” Jesus, he’s grateful for her, he thinks, and he gives an answering smile back and heads toward the kitchen.

He puts on the coffee as soon as he gets into the kitchen and starts digging around in the fridge for the eggs. He’s got them out on the counter, and the toast out, too, when suddenly he hears a knock on the door. Dean huffs and scratches the back of his head, looking at the clock. “Who the hell could that be this early on a Sunday?” he says to himself. The dream he’d had still had him off his game, still had his head swirling around, tying his feels all up in knots, and now this unexpected visitor made him feel a lot more paranoid than he would have under any other set of circumstances. He pads to the door and as he turns the knob and swings it open, he lets out a gruff “Who is it? What do you - “

But he’s cut off. His mouth hangs open in shock and he can’t believe what he’s seeing. He can’t. Even as his heart starts racing and everything in his head lights up to tell him he should be experiencing joy, there’s another part that can’t accept what’s before him to be true.

Because standing at the door to Lisa’s house is his little brother. It’s Sam. _Sam_. Looking whole and healthy and good as new, like he hadn’t ever fallen into the cage with Michael and Lucifer. Though he’d wished and hoped, Dean honestly hadn’t expected to ever see him again - he just had never gotten around to actually accepting that. And now he never had to. Because he had his brother back. He had Sam.

Sam smiles at the glazed look in Dean’s eyes, and the unrepentent shock he isn’t trying to hide on his face. “Hi,” he says. And then he promptly falls over in a dead faint.

“Sam!” Dean says, taking a step back and throwing his arms up in surprise. His voice comes out high and afraid but he doesn’t currently have it in him to care. All he can think about is how he has Sam again. How he’ll never let his brother leave his sight. “Lisa!” he calls out. “Lisa, get down here.” He grabs Sam’s arm and lifts him up enough to grab his torso. He starts dragging him, cursing his brother’s heavy ass as he makes their way over to the couch. Sam’s dead weight is heavy, but Dean manages it, and then rolls him over so he’s face up.

Lisa catches up with him then and is asking, sounding none too happy about it, either, “Dean? What’s the matter? What is - Oh my God.” She gasps as she takes in the sight of the large man laying on her living room couch. “Dean, it’s...” She swallows and gapes. “Dean, your brother. He’s here.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, unable to stop himself from grinning like an idiot. “Yeah, he’s here.”

* * *

Cas lands in an empty field, as far away from any people as he could get in his weakened state. Going into Dean’s dream that morning had given him a bit of respite, but the effort it took seems to have drained his strength even further and now he is starting to regret taking the risk. But Dean knows that Sam is safe. Dean knows that he’ll have his brother back. That thought strengthens Castiel’s resolve and he knows that it was worth it after all.

His vision is spotty, white flashes coming up before his eyes. When he had pulled Dean from the pit he had had a host of other angels fighting alongside him. It had been their orders, it had been fate - Dean had always been meant to be saved. But Sam... Sam was another story. No one had instructed him to go fetch Sam, so he had had no back-up. He had had to go into the depths of hell all on his own. And even with everything he’d done to insure his own safety, even with his new power after being resurrected again, it still hadn’t been enough. He was lucky to have made it out alive. And though Sam was safe and whole, Castiel had not been so lucky. 

He felt like he was dying.

His wings were torn and tattered, mere shells of what they once used to be. Hell, the very place, was malevolence, was built and formed from tangible evil, and it was rare that anyone got out unscathed. Castiel had been lucky once, but he had no such luck on his second venture in. His grace ached, like it had never ached before - not even when he had been falling, when he had been all but human. The absence hurt him. He had been able to feel it leaking away, had been able to feel as it slowly left him, but the grace itself had never felt so... _polluted_. Which is exactly how it felt now. 

His wings, made of pure energy, spread out behind the body of Jimmy Novak he wore, and maybe - just maybe - if he could make them manifest in the physical world, then he could heal them. But no, he is too weak even for that. He is too weak to travel, practically too weak to move, and to weak to call for his brothers to help. His head is swimming and pain like he has never known before fills his body.

His arms spread out wide, a terrible echo of his true wingspan. And then he starts to scream. The sky above him starts to turn black, a storm drawn to the energy he knows he must be releasing. Lightening strikes, once, then again, and thunder rolls dangerously all around him. His wings flutter for a moment, vibrating so fast it is almost painful and then - 

A _SNAP_.

And his wings are no more.

“No,” he cries out, falling to his knees. “No. No!” His voice carries, louder than the thunder, the human vocal chords he’s using at odds with his true voice, trying to leak out. He prays, helplessly, desperately, but the storm only gets worse. Rain starts to fall in heavy torrents, and dark hair is plastered to his forehead as the clothes he wears grow heavy from the weight of the water. His back aches, so much he thinks it might kill him, and the remnants of his wings pulse with fierce, bright agony. 

He wants to die. He thinks he is going to die. A dim, blue light starts emanating from his chest. He grabs desperately at his shirt, ripping it open, and sees his skin glowing, lines of blue - like veins of his grace, he thinks - spiderwebbing across the pale flesh. 

The wind is whipping the trees so hard he hears one crack and splinter, its limbs falling to the ground with a sound not unlike the thunder. Lightning strikes. And then it strikes again, strikes _him_ , and the electricity lights up his whole body, like it is animating it, like he is Frankenstein’s monster of myth and he is being born. Maybe death will be similar to birth, he thinks. When his body had been unmade before, blown to smithereens by powers he could barely comprehend, it had not hurt like this. It had not really felt like anything at all.

Something pulses inside him and he coughs, spitting up blood. It stains the ground red and he squeezes his eyes shut tight, hoping that whatever happens, whatever is happening, it will just end _soon_. The thing pulses again, like it’s trying to escape, and all over his body he itches and burns. He screams again.

And then, with another flash of lightning, the sound becomes louder and mindless with pain - and there is a huge, domed flash of light, coming from his chest. He opens his eyes and feels them nearly burn away as the brightness increases, and then, suddenly, the light explodes outward.

Castiel is drained, left dry, and with his last moment of consciousness draws in a deep breath. And then he falls to the ground, and thinks no more.

* * *

“-officials still don’t know what could have caused the flash of light, though some are speculating that it had something to do with the storm that came in earlier today. Investigation continues, we’ll have more on the story at ten.”

Lisa looks at Dean worriedly, putting a hand on his shoulder. That storm started only a few hours after Sam showed up. You don’t think it has anything to do with his reappearance, do you?”

That’s exactly what Dean thought, but he didn’t want to give voice to his worry. Surely there was some explanation. He had to believe that. No one had mentioned anything to him about something similar happening when he’d been resurrected - as fucking weird as it still was to say that, even just in his head - and he hadn’t heard anything about some giant explosion on the news. But then he’d also heard from Cas right after, and he hadn’t been delivered straight to the door of his nearest and dearest. Sam seemed fine, but... 

Dean clears his throat. “I dunno, Lisa.” Sam is sitting with Ben in the living room, and Dean has to restrain himself from going in there to check on him again. “Maybe.”

“It’s definitely in your line of work, though.”

He didn’t have to say anything to tell her she was right. He just sighs.

Lisa gives him a slow, soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Why don’t Ben and I go out, pick us all up something to eat? You and Sam really haven’t had much of a chance to talk, just the two of you.”

Dean cups her shoulder in one big hand and smiles. She returns it, head tilting slightly as she puts her hand over his. “Thanks,” he says, his voice rough. “That sounds good to me.”

She nods and grabs her purse. “Ben!” she calls, “are you hungry? Why don’t we go get some supper, let Dean have some time alone with his brother.”

Ben seems to like the idea, too, and after quick goodbyes to the two Winchesters they head out. 

Dean sits down beside Sam on the couch and clears his throat.

Sam grins and then laughs lightly, clapping his brother on the back. “I’m okay,” he says, “I promise.”

“Yeah, it’s just...” Dean shakes his head, unable to put into words everything he wants to say. “Uh. Good to see you.”

“You, too. You look happy. Here, I mean - with Lisa and Ben.”

“Yeah, uh, no, I am. I am - things have been good with us so far. As least...” He shrugs and sinks back into the cushions. “As good as they could be, I guess. I promised you that I’d try this, man, and I did.”

Sam nods. “How’s Bobby doing?”

Dean looks away, a little shamefacedly. “I, uh... Hadn’t really talked to Bobby in awhile. Not since I first got here.”

There’s awkward chat for a few minutes longer, when finally Dean has to ask what’s been nagging at him since he first saw Sam. “So how did you get out of there? I mean, not that I’m not glad to have you back - you better fucking believe I am - but...”

Sam just nods, like he understands what Dean’s trying to say. “I don’t know, man, but. No, wait, I do know, I just..” He frowns and rubs at his temple, like trying to remember is causing him pain. “It was Cas. He pulled me out of there and then dropped me off here. It’s...” He laughs dryly. “It’s not the kind of journey you’d want to remember, though, so I guess he sort of... helped me forget.”

“Where is he? He just run his ass back to heaven after his delivery boy act?”

Sam ignores the slight bitter note in Dean’s voice. He looks away, obviously lost in thought, his gaze somewhere far off. “There’s... There’s something about Cas, but. But I can’t quite reach it. I think...” He turns towards Dean suddenly enough to surprise him, his eyes suddenly seriously and his gaze suddenly sharp. “I think Cas is in trouble.”

Dean swallows down the lump in his throat. “That light... the explosion on the news. You think that had something to do with Cas?”

“I don’t know,” Sam answers, “Maybe? I mean... the timing is a little suspect. Right after he brought me here.”

“Yeah,” Dean says. He drums his fingers on his knee, considering. He bites at his bottom lip.

Sam laughs. “Man, if you want, we can go check it out. See if it was Cas, make sure he’s okay.”

“I gotta check with Lisa first,” Dean says, but it’s just an excuse. Something - maybe because of the dream that morning, maybe because of something else, some deeper tie to Cas - is telling him that something’s wrong. Something’s telling him to go, and go fast, to find the angel and make sure he’s okay.

When Lisa and Ben get back, they don’t discuss Cas anymore, they just eat supper happy and carefree, like nothing is wrong. But Lisa sees, and when they go back up to her bedroom to go to sleep, she corners him about it. “Is everything all right?” she asks. He has explained a little bit about Cas, just the most salient details, and Lisa knows - even without Dean telling her this part - that he means a lot to him. 

“It’s... You know Cas? Sam says that he was the one who brought him back, but he hasn’t shown up yet, hasn’t stopped in to make sure Sam’s okay or anything. And I don’t know how, Lisa, but I think... I just have a feeling something’s wrong.”

She looks sad but resigned. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

Dean sighs. “Just... just for a little while. Me and Sam, I... I just want some time with him, I guess, just us two on the road for a little bit. And I want to go check on Cas.” He puts his hand on her cheek. “But I’ll come back.”

“You’re welcome here, you know that.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, “I know.” Lisa turns away and climbs into bed. Dean clears his throat awkwardly and follows behind her.

That night, he dreams Cas is inside a pillar of fire - or maybe that he is the pillar of fire, and Dean feels pain and a burning so hot it’s cold. When he wakes up, he’s even more certain that Cas needs him. He and Sam leave that day, right after breakfast.

* * *

“Dude did you just... did you just sigh? Like. Wistfully?”

Sam at least looks contrite when Dean whirls around to look at him, but he doesn’t take back his question. “What the fuck,” Dean says, which makes Sam look down into his tea. “I wasn’t sighing.” He sinks down further in the booth, legs stretching out until he hits Sam’s feet. He doesn’t move and Sam’s eyes dart up to his. He frowns but Dean just raises an eyebrow and takes another bite of his pie. Sam watches, an expression on his face Dean categorizes as vague disgust, as a bit of the blueberry filling falls off his fork onto his chin. He wipes at it, smearing it, then licks it off with the back of his tongue. Sam rolls his eyes and Dean grins. But it works; Sam’s foot moves.

“Whatever,” he says, shifting in his seat. “You sighed.”

“I didn’t _sigh_.”

“Dean you were staring out a window.” He glances at Dean significantly then looks at the window on their right, putting his elbow on the table and resting his chin in his hand. He shakes his head - and that is a damn lustrous head of hair, christ, Dean wonders, does he grow it out just for moments like this? - and then sighs. It’s so deep his whole body moves with it and he blinks a couple of times, fluttering his eyelashes.

“Like that,” Dean says flatly. “I sighed - like _that_.” Sam nods. “I am not a mooning teenage girl.”

Sam ignores this and takes a long drag of his tea. “Dean,” he says, using his understanding voice, “If you... want to talk about it - “

“Ahh! No. No; let me stop you right there Mr. caring-and-sharing. I don’t need to talk about shit.” He takes another bite of his pie and smiles. “Except telling the waitress I want another slice.”

Sam rolls his eyes again, but he doesn’t say anything else about it. The dreams about Cas keep coming, every night, and finally - last night - Cas managed to communicate with him. All he could say was I am lost. Dean had been worried before, he wasn’t going to deny that, but after that dream he starting slipping into an actual honest as fuck freak-out. It didn’t help, either, that he’d had more of those tiger dreams, too. Now, Jesus, he didn’t mind telling Sam that he’d had some dreams of Cas, and he even didn’t mind - well, _mostly_ didn’t mind- telling him that he’d had some dreams _with_ Cas, but he’d be damned before he ever - and he meant _ever_ \- told Sam that sometimes he had creepy sex dreams with Tigerstiel, and that sometimes he even liked it. Goddamn, just thinking about it made it seem even creepier.

Suddenly, though, Dean’s phone starts to ring and he digs it out of his pocket. “Hello?”

“Dean.”

His mind goes blank at the familiar, gravelly voice. _Cas_ , he thinks, _holy shit, it’s Castiel_.

“Cas!” he says, so loud that both Sam and the guy in the next booth behind them peer over to stare at him.

“Cas, hey, are you all right?” He clears his throat and throws Sam a quick look, promising to fill him in after the conversation is finished. “We haven’t heard from you since... since Sam came back. I mean, uh. Except the dreams. Where are you?”

Castiel is silent for a long minute and Dean’s starting to wonder if Cas hung up on him. “Dean,” he says again, something like uncertainty creeping into his voice. “I... You were praying for me.”

Jesus, is _everyone_ going to get on his goddamn case today? He wasn’t praying to Castiel and he wasn’t sighing wistfully about it, either; he was just fucking thinking. 

“Can you get your ass over here, Cas? We just want to make sure you’re okay. Tell me you’re okay.”

“I am...” His voice shakes a little before he awkwardly clears his throat. It’s a sound Dean’s not entirely sure he’s ever heard Cas make before. “I believe I am okay. But I...” His tone sounds pained. “Saving Sam took more out of me than I had expected. Something happened to my grace. Something I fear may be... permanent.”

Dean’s stomach fell into his feet. “Permanent? Cas, what happened? Cas, man, _where are you?_ ”

“I am at Bobby Singer’s.” He is silent again, for a long, tense moment. “Are you and Sam coming this way anytime soon?”

Dean mentally takes stock of what they have to do and how quickly they can get it done. “Yeah,” he says. “We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

* * *

Dean drives faster than Sam’s ever seen him drive before, racing to get to Bobby’s - and to Cas. 

“How is he?” Sam asks, trying to keep his voice low. Dean’s already worried, already drawn tight, and Sam doesn’t want to exasperate that. 

“I don’t know,” Bobby answers, sounding tired. “He kind of just showed up here, told me you were safe, and then collapsed. He’s been in and out of it all day and I got to tell you, Sam, I ain’t got a clue what to do for him. He’s burning up, and he’s pale as death.”

Sam swallows and looks over at Dean, sitting white-knuckled at the wheel. “We’re coming as fast as we can, Bobby. As fast as we can.”

They pull into Bobby’s the next day, and as soon as the engine’s off Dean’s out of the car, racing inside. “Where the hell is that dumb bastard?” Dean asks, almost running straight into Bobby in his haste. 

“Sitting on the couch,” Bobby answers. “He’s awake now, so go on in.” Dean nods and walks off. Sam’s right behind him, and Bobby sighs. “He been like this ever since that angelic idjit called him?”

Sam nods. “Yeah, he’s...” He looks away, brows knitted in consternation. “Dean’s just worried. And I am, too, Bobby. Whatever Cas did to get me out, it hurt him. It hurt him bad. We’re just...” He laughs, self-deprecatingly, and says “I guess me and Dean just gravitate towards guilt. We’re Winchesters, we can’t help it.”

“Yeah,” Bobby says, watching Sam go into the living room, “you’re Winchesters, all right.”

Cas sits up as soon as he sees Sam enter. “Sam,” he says weakly, looking worriedly from one brother to the other. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, Cas, I’m fine, man. It’s you we’re worried about.”

“Yeah,” Dean echoes gruffly. “What the hell’s the matter with you anyway?”

Cas lets out a long breath and eases himself back down onto the couch. Dean is perched beside him, his ass half-off the couch. His hands hover close to Cas’s body but never touch him. He’s still wearing the suit and trenchcoat, and his forehead is wet with sweat, his hair plastered to the skin. His face is a pale, ashy gray. “When I went into the pit to save Sam,” he explains, his voice hoarse, “I went alone. I was stronger, but.” He groans. “My grace was... infected. When I returned to earth, my vessel could not longer contain it.”

“Could no longer contain it? What the hell does that mean?” Dean asks.

“It’s gone,” Cas answers flatly. “To get away from the taint of hell, my grace left my body. In... simpler terms,” he says in response to Dean’s blank look, “it exploded. Out of me.”

“No grace,” Sam says, looking worried. “Would that make you human?”

“Not yet,” Cas says. “It happened very quickly and I had no time to adjust. I may become human, but. There is a chance that I... won’t.”

“Won’t,” Dean repeats, “what do you mean won’t?”

Cas has just enough energy to give Dean a withering look. “I mean that I won’t be an angel, I won’t be human. I won’t be _anything_.”

The color drains from Dean’s face.

“W-well, is there...” Sam licks his lips thoughtfully. “Is there anyway to fix it?”

“If we managed to find my grace, then maybe,” Cas says.

“Okay then!” Dean says, standing up. “That’s all we have to do. That’s what we’re going to do.”

Sam and Cas share a look. “Don’t get me wrong, Dean,” Sam tells his brother, “I want to help Cas as much as you do, but.” He looks down at the floor and sighs. “How are we even supposed to find his grace?”

Castiel coughs. “I can sense it,” he says.

“See?” Dean tilts his chin up stubbornly, crossing his arms over his chest. Sam rolls his eyes. “Cas can sense it.”

There’s some argument as to the pragmatism of the idea, but with Cas only getting worse and Dean’s lack of patience positively correlated to the severity of Cas’s symptoms, Sam doesn’t see that they have much of a choice.

It’s time to turn to google.

“What exactly are you looking for?” Dean asks intrusively, leaning over Sam’s shoulder to look at the screen of his laptop. 

Sam cracks his knuckles. “I don’t know,” he says, again, slowly, trying not to lose his patience with his brother. “Anything... strange. Anything that might look like it’s related to angels, or to grace, or...” He sighs and scrubs a hand through his hair. “Just. Anything strange, Dean. We don’t exactly have a lot to go on right now.”

Dean leans in closer, looking at what Sam’s got pulled up in his browser. “You’re looking at _libraries_?” he asks, giving his brother an incredulous look.

Sam’s shoulders raise defensively. “For a _reason_ , Dean,” he says. “I think this might be a lead.”

“Visitors at an all time high,” Dean reads. He levels Sam with a flat look. “Yeah, Sam, real suspicious.”

“Look, Dean, I know it’s a long shot, but I’ve just got a feeling. It can't hurt to check it out.”

* * *

“Here’s where Sam’s little feeling got us,” Dean says, putting the car in park. “You getting any vibes from your grace, Cas?”

“I...” Cas coughs once, and then promptly passes out.

“Cas!” Dean throws the door open and jumps out of the car. He opens the door to the backseat and shimmies inside, pulling at Cas, trying to wake him up. “Goddamnit, Cas,” he says, wiping the sweat off Cas’s brow. “What the hell did you have to go and pass out for?” 

“Is he okay?” Sam asks worriedly, twisting around to look at Cas and his brother, piled in the back of the Impala.

Dean ignores him in favor of slapping Cas’s cheek with the back of one hand. “Wake up,” he says. He grits his teeth, fisting his hands into the lapels of Cas’s coat. “Damn it, Cas, wake up. Wake up.” There’s no response - nothing - and Sam can see the panic settling in: his face going slack, his shoulders getting tight. 

With a low growl, Deans eyes snap shut and he curls his fists tighter into Cas’s clothes. He’s lifting Cas, the angel’s body raised and pressed against Dean’s. “You have to wake up,” Dean says. “You asshole. You don’t get to check out on us now.”

Whatever he’d done, or said, apparently works, because just as Sam’s about to try to pull Dean away to keep him from suffocating Cas, there’s a gasp and Cas is jerking awake. His eyes are wild and his mouth is open wide. He reaches out for Dean immediately, his hand clamping down on Dean’s shoulder, directly over the handprint.

“Dean,” Cas rasps out. He is breathing hard, his face growing even paler. His eyes burn a bright, electric blue until the glow takes up the whole eyeball.

“What’s happening, Cas?” Sam asks worriedly. “What are you doing to Dean?”

Before he can pull them apart, however, there’s a bright flash of light. He covers his eyes; Dean shouts.

Which, Sam notices after he blinks his eyes open, is probably because of the new pair of _enormous wings_ that have erupted from his back.

“What the fuck,” Sam says stupidly, staring slack-jawed at his brother’s back.

Dean’s wings - and holy shit, Sam’s not ever going to be used to thinking _that_ \- flutter a little, trying to stretch out in the cramped space of the car.

“Cas...,” Dean says, his voice much higher-pitched than normal. Sam can’t tell if it’s because of anger or panic. “Did you just give me... wings. Sam, do I have wings?”

“Uh...” Sam rubs the back of his neck and clears his throat nervously. “Yeah. You kind of do.”

“This wasn’t my intention, Dean,” Cas says. He still looks weak and Sam remembers suddenly that they need to figure out if the piece of grace is there or not. And soon. “When I regain my strength, I can fix it.”

“Okay, great, but, um. We need to figure out if this is the right place or not. Cas, can you...” Sam’s mouth twists down and he makes swirly motions with his hands, trying to find an accurate description of what he wants to say. “Can you sense your grace here?”

Cas’s eyes close for a moment. “Yes,” he says, opening them and fixing his gaze on Sam. “Yes, it’s here.”

Sam breathes out in relief. “Great. Okay, Dean, you wait in the car with Cas. I’m going to go in and - “

“Wait,” Cas says. “You won’t know what it is. You need me.”

Dean snorts. “I think that Sam’ll be able to find a piece of souped up angel grace. Not like the library’s gonna be crawling with those.”

Cas relents, because he’s too weak to do much of anything besides sit in the car, anyway. And Dean turns out to be right - after talking to a few patrons Sam finds out that the reason the library’s been so popular lately is that the stories in the books are coming to life. Someone had a conversation with Eleanor Roosevelt after browsing through her biography. A little boy got to meet Wilbur from _Charlotte’s Web_. But nothing ever lasted - anything that happened only happened in the confines of the library. Once a reader left the building, the visions of whatever they’d been reading disappeared.

Sam’s chatting with a young woman at the reception desk when he notices a pencil caddy full of bookmarks. There’s a long, white feather between a robot bookmark and a piece of construction paper with “READING IT IS FUN!” scribbled on it in crayon. He gives the librarian a friendly goodbye and surreptitiously pockets the feather on his way out.

“Sam!” Dean calls from the car as soon as he’s in sight. “Did you get it? Are we good?”

“Yeah,” Sam calls back. He has to hold back laughter when he gets to the car; Dean is pressed up against the window, feathers fanned out behind him. The left wing is hitched up at his side, and the right is draped over the driver’s seat.

Dean opens the door and beckons Sam forward. “Okay great, now get it back to Cas right the hell now so I can get rid of these damn things.”

Sam climbs in the car on the driver’s side, waving off Dean’s token protests. There’s barely enough room for both Cas and newly-winged Dean in the backseat, and there’s a moment of awkward shuffling as they try to get situated so they can both look at Sam. Dean’s wing ends up wrapped around behind Cas, and Sam bites his lip to stifle his grin at that. It’s kind of freaking adorable, and more than that it will probably make great fodder to hold over Dean. If Sam chose to do that, of course.

“Here,” Sam says, pulling the feather out of his pocket and holding it up for Cas to inspect. “Your, uh, grace.”

“Yes,” Cas rumbles, looking both relieved and vaguely constipated. He holds his hand out, palm up, and Sam gives him the feather.

It raises up, floating about an inch about his hand. There’s a golden light surrounding it, glowing outward in a sphere around the feather. Cas opens his mouth, wider than seems humanly possible. Dean grunts - possibly in confusion. The feather shimmers, vibrating gently in Cas’s grasp. Then, without warning, it bursts outward into the light and Cas sucks the nebulous, golden cloud into his mouth. And then he swallows it.

“Okay,” Dean says, slowly, letting the word hang heavy in the air, “so I’m betting this day can’t get any weirder - since already I got wings and Cas can unhinge his jaw like a fucking snake.”

As though in response, Cas burps.

* * *

They make it into a motel without anyone noticing Dean’s new limbs, but as soon as Cas walks in, he collapses on the nearest bed.

“Great,” Dean says. He presses the heels of his hands against his eyes and groans, taking a seat on the other bed. “Now what the hell are we supposed to do?”

“Stop griping,” Sam says. “We’ll just have to wait for Cas to wake up.” He gives Dean a quick grin that immediately has Dean suspicious. “I’ll go get us some food,” he says, jangling the keys to the Impala. Dean is already unhappy enough that he had to relinquish the keys to the car for the ride to the motel; Sam can’t helping rubbing it in - just a little. “Be back soon.”

It takes Sam nearly an hour to find somewhere to grab some food and then get back. When we walks in, Dean’s on the phone and Cas is still laid out flat on his stomach, asleep.

Dean looks up, then says, “Oh, sorry, Lisa, Sam’s back. I’ll call you back.” He hangs up and looks over at the bag Sam’s carrying with interest.

“That Lisa?” Sam asks, rhetorically. He sits down at the little table provided and starts unpacking the food. “You tell her what’s going on?”

“Hell no,” Dean scoffs, tearing open a carton of fried rice. He grabs the chopsticks Sam holds on and starts digging in.

“I don’t know,” Sam says, his tone light. “Some people are really into that sort of thing.”

“What, wings?” Dean’s mouth is full of food as he rolls his eyes.

“Yours are exceptional.” The brothers both look up to see Cas, sitting up on the bed, his hair in a messy halo on his head, sticking up with unusual ferocity. His eyes droop and his tie is badly askew. A chopstick hangs from Dean’s mouth as he stares at Cas. Castiel just tilts his head up and looks down at the Winchesters with narrowed eyes.

“Uh...” Dean lets the chopstick drop and clears his throat. “What?”

“Your wings,” Cas clarifies unnecessarily. He raises one hand and lets it drift down the tips of Dean’s feathers with unusual gentleness. Dean shivers, open-mouthed, with what Sam suspects may be pleasure. Sam just finds it a little creepy. Castiel wets his lips, still transfixed by the feathers under his fingertips. “They are beautiful.”

Sam resists the urge he has to look away. “Um. You’re still going to take them away, right?”

Cas draws his hand back quickly, something close to color rising in his cheeks. “Of course,” he says, indignantly. 

“Why’d you give them to me anyway?” Dean asks.

“It wasn’t intentional,” Cas starts, but Dean interrupts.

“I really fucking hope it wasn’t intentional,” he snorts.

Cas gives him a dark look but doesn’t respond. “When I pulled you from the pit, I remade you - rebuilt your body. It seems that some of my grace was woven in. In my weakened state, I... responded to that. I tried to draw it to me.” He looks away from Dean and wets his upper lip with the flat of his tongue. He’s been doing things like that more lately, Sam notices - little involuntary motions, things a human might do without even thinking about it. That, he thinks, probably doesn’t bode well. “It had... unexpected results.”

“Yeah, I’ll say.” Dean looks down with a scowl. “So you’re saying I have... a piece of you. Inside me?”

“You could put it like that, yes.”

“Then get it out!”

“It isn’t that simple,” Cas explains. He looks as much in a snit as Dean does. Sam’s starting to think maybe the library needs a little more investigating. “I don’t know what might happen to you if I take it away. And at any rate I’m not strong enough yet.”

Dean’s flagging attention perks up at that, and his eyes dart to Cas’s, sharp and alert. “What the hell do you mean you’re not strong enough? You just got another piece back. Are you going to be able to get these things off me or not?”

“Yes,” Cas says with emphasis. “I will. But I’m going to need to rest more. I should be able to do it by the morning.”

Dean groans, his face in his hands. “You mean I have to _sleep_ on these things?”

He does have to sleep on them; and it’s an experience none of them want to repeat. Cas, still dressed in everything down to his shoes, falls asleep face first on the bed again. He grunts when Sam pokes him but refuses to wake even with both brothers calling to him. Dean, by virtue of taking up the most space, gets a bed to himself. Sam has either the floor or Cas’s bed to choose from, so he shoves the angel over and tries to make do with the large lump that keeps trying to roll into the middle.

Dean tries to sleep on his stomach, but he still isn’t used to the feathers that keep brushing against him. Even though the wings are corporeal, they went straight through his clothing without ripping it. The only explanation Cas had given before he’d gone unconscious again was that it had to do with their metaphysical properties. Or, as Dean has put it, because of angel magic. The wings rustle all night, and occasionally if Dean gets too uncomfortable, one of them flings out and hits either the window or the nightstand between the beds.

Sam wakes up early, before Dean or Cas. Cas is still sleeping like the dead beside him, not moving, the only sign he’s awake at all the slight wheezy breath coming out of his nose. Dean is hovering above his bed, his wings flapping gently to keep him aloft. It takes Sam a moment to realize what he’s seeing. He blinks and rubs hard at his eyes. His brother’s still in the air. The wings are flapping hard enough to keep him elevated, and Sam realizes with a start that it’s probably what woke him up.

“Dean,” he hisses. “Dean! Wake up.”

The wings flap again and Dean grunts. His eyes open blearily and his legs stretch. They’re just hanging in the air, pointing down to the bed. It must be a disconcerting feeling - and really damn uncomfortable, Sam thinks - because Dean shakes his head and his muscles bunch up and, moving back to his conscious control, the wings stop flapping. He falls back onto the bed, spitting out a curse as he does.

“Cas!” he yells, trying to sit up, the wings getting in his way, bent awkwardly and trailing over the side of the bed. “Cas, get your ass up and get these things _off_ me!”

Cas stirs from beside Sam. He sits up, eyes looking around blearily before focusing in on Dean. After the few moments of struggle Dean seems to have gotten his wings under control and he’s standing, looking furiously over at Cas. “I’m awake,” he says, his voice hoarse. There are dark circles under his eyes and a mark on his face from a wrinkle in the pillowcase. He stands and goes over to Dean. “Are you... certain you want me to remove them? Because I - “

“What the fuck,” Dean says. Sam snorts to himself. “Yes,” he says, emphasizing the word by poking Cas with his index finger. “I want them _gone_.”

Cas sighs as though he’s being greatly put-upon, and then rolls his shoulders. “Very well,” he says. He raises his hands and cups the air around Dean’s shoulders. Dean looks from his right side to his left, the feathers in his wings fluffing up a little in what Sam guesses is concern. Cas closes his eyes and he takes a breath so deep his body moves from it. And then the wings recede.

Sam can’t quite see it happen, only hears Dean’s gasp, and notices a golden light surrounding his brother. He blinks a few times and looks back, and just like that the wings are gone - the only thing left of them is a single white feather, that Cas surreptitiously tucks into the pocket of his coat.

* * *

After resting, Cas seems to have regained a lot of his strength. He seems to have a better idea of where his grace is, too, because the next day they have a new lead and a destination. 

“So how do you know this is the right place?” Dean asks around the hunk of burger in his mouth. He licks some ketchup off his teeth and then shoves a fry in his mouth. “You picking up some sort of signal or something?”

Cas looks up from his plate of fried fish, a hushpuppy still between his thumb and index finger. “Yes,” he says. He looks over at Sam beside him. Sam just shrugs. “We’ve been over this already, Dean.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean says, popping one finger after another in his mouth, sucking off all the burger detritus. “I just don’t see how it has anything to do with you or your grace. Hell, I don’t see how it’s a case at all.”

Sam sucks down the last of his milkshake and then sighs at his brother. “It is a little suspicious, Dean. All the women in this town going after the same guy?”

Dean shrugs. “Maybe he has a magic cock.”

Sam rolls his eyes. Cas just says “We can ask him when we get there.”

They finish their lunch without much more conversation until Dean says, “Hey Cas. I have something to ask you.”

“What is it, Dean?”

“Since you pulled me out of the pit and stuff some of your angel grace in me, wouldn’t Sam have some, too? And why can’t you just take it out of us? Wouldn’t that make you stronger faster?”

That’s something Sam hadn’t even thought of, and he turns to Cas, curious.

But Castiel shakes his head. “I didn’t have to rebuild Sam’s body as I had to rebuild yours. He has a small piece of my grace in order to... help him. Cope with the memories of hell. I do not wish to take that away.”

Sam’s torn between being really fucking grateful and a little freaked Cas did that without his permission.

“And,” Cas continues, “I do not want to risk unmaking you. The grace inside you does create a sort of bond between us, but I can’t tell what would happen if it were removed. As it seems to be causing you no problems, I decided that as long as I could retain enough strength to stay alive, it would be best to just leave it inside you”

“Oh, uh.” Dean shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Thanks for that, man.”

Cas doesn’t seem to hear the discomfort. “You’re welcome.”

Sam grins at his brother, unable to help himself when Dean is already visibly embarrassed. He teases Dean about Castiel all the way to the impala, which is where Dean’s admittedly limited patience breaks.

Dean sighs angrily. “Dammit, Sammy, are you ever going to let this go?”

“I don’t know,” Sams says with a shrug. He slings open the door to the Impala and slides his long body onto the seat. “Are you ever going to forgive me for eating cheesy puffs in the car?”

“Wha--” Dean glares. “Sam, a child - a fucking _child_ \- would realize that when you eat those things, you get that orange junk all over your goddamn hands. Do we have a sink in the car, Sam? Can you wash them before you put your greasy orange hands all over my baby?”

Sam rolls his eyes and lets out a huff of air; in the backseat, Cas doesn’t quite manage to hide his laugh.

* * *

Their destination is a small town somewhere Dean’s never heard of in Louisiana. They check into a little motel and do a little googling. A young man named Cameron Barlow had gone from being an unfortunate looking IT worker to being the most desired man in the entire town. From the interviews they’d read, the most desired man in the entire parish.

“So what do we think?” Dean asks, closing the internet browser and then shutting the laptop. “That somehow this guy got a hold of one of Cas’s pieces of grace and it made him hot shit to all the girls who never used to give him the time of day?”

“Looks like it,” Sam sighs. “And even if it doesn’t seem likely, _something_ about this pinged on Cas’s radar, so we might as well check it out.”

Dean shrugs. “I guess so. What’s the plan?”

The article they read listed his employer, and it doesn’t take long to get a phone number for that. Sam calls, hoping to either talk to the guy or find out where he lives, but as soon as someone answers he starts yelling, telling them he has no idea where Cameron is, he hasn’t shown up to work, try his mother’s house and for the love of God stop calling.

“Um.” Sam clears his throat, taking a moment to process all the information that was just screamed at him. “Could you... tell me how to find his mother, please?” The guy spits out an address and then hangs up. 

“Did you talk to him?” Castiel asks as Sam puts away his phone.

Sam shakes his head. “No. But the guy I talked to said we should try his mom’s.” Dean snorts in derisive amusement and Sam gives him a dirty look. “He said she lived on Front Street, number 204. Going in as reporters would probably be the easiest cover. We can pretend to want to write another article on him.”

“Sounds good to me,” Dean says. He stands up, stretching, and slaps Cas on the shoulder. “Let’s go.”

The town is so small they don’t really even need a map; it takes less than ten minutes to get there and soon they’re pulling up into a small driveway at the front of a squat brick house with a wooden porch and an overgrown lawn.

“Let us do the talking,” Dean tells Cas as they get out of the car. “Okay? Don’t mention anything about lost grace or what the hell we’re really doing here.”

Cas nods. “Very well, Dean.”

Dean seems pleased by the acquiescence. Sam rolls his eyes but doesn’t comment. They walk up to the door and ring the bell. After a moment or two a short woman with curly, graying hair opens the door. She squints up at Sam, who’s at least a foot taller than her, then puts on the glasses hanging from a chain around her neck. “Yes?” she asks.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Sam says, giving her his friendliest smile, “we’re looking for Cameron Barlow. Are you his mother?”

Her face falls and tears well up in her eyes. “Oh, my poor boy. Yes, I’m...” She takes out a handkerchief and blows her nose, then sticks it back in the breast pocket of her shirt. “I’m Edna Barlow,” she says. “But Cameron isn’t here, I’m afraid. He’s been missing since the day before yesterday.”

“We just want to ask you a few questions,” Sam says. “Would it be all right if we came in?”

“I suppose so,” she says, shuffling back and pushing the door open wider. “Are y’all reporters?”

Sam nods as they all come in. Cas closes the door gently behind him. “We are,” Sam says as they follow Edna into a sitting room. The room is small but crowded - it looks well cared for, but very lived in. Bookcases are built into the far wall, and there are two big windows with little bench window seats to their right. There’s an expensive looking flatscreen television mounted to the wall, and an old, squashy brown loveseat with hibiscus-printed throw pillows piled on top of it. A wicker basket full of old Cat Fancy and Food Network magazines is right beside the sofa, with a big, glass top coffee table in front of it. There’s a big leather armchair set catty-corner near the bookshelves, and a tall floor lamp stands beside it, the shade covered with what looks like a gauzy red scarf. 

Edna takes a seat in the armchair and gestures toward the sofa. Dean plops down immediately, and Sam sits beside him. Cas just stands awkwardly near the windows.

“Now what can I help you with, boys?” she asks. There are pictures hanging on every wall; some of them are generic paintings of pretty landscapes, but most of them are of a young man with a marked resemblance to Edna. She looks over at the one closest to her and sighs. “You said you were here to do a little piece on my Cameron?”

“That’s right,” Dean says. “Could you, uh... tell us maybe how the whole thing started? I mean with the girls. Did anything strange happen? Did he mention finding anything or... maybe seeing something weird?”

Edna’s brows furrow and she frowns, shaking her head. “No,” she says. “He never mentioned anything like that to me. And he would have, you know, I’m sure he would have.” She leans forward, and cups a hand around her mouth conspiratorially, as though sharing a secret. “You see, he’s never been very popular with girls. He’s shy. But our neighbors - the Johnstons, right next door - have a pretty daughter, about his age, named Kelly. Her mother’s sick so she’s over pretty often checking in on her, and whenever Cameron was over here for dinner he’d always sit on the porch to try to get a look at her. She was friendly to him, of course, but I don’t ever think she knew how he felt.” She dabs at her eyes with her handkerchief. “I thought it was all very romantic.”

Dean coughs to cover a laugh and Sam jabs him with the point of his elbow. Sam licks his lips and scoots forward. “So he was interested in this girl - Kelly, right?” Edna nods. “What happened? Did he talk to her? Did he get another girlfriend to make her jealous?”

She shrugs. “I have no idea!” she says. “He likes to go for walks, you know, long walks out near his uncle’s place. Lot of swampland out there. And one day he goes out, moping about that girl. He comes back, same as always, but that’s when this whole thing started. He’s sitting on the porch, just like usual, but when Kelly’s getting into her car and Cameron waves, she just stops. And she stares at him, and stares at him, and stares at him, like the girl’s never seen him before in her life! I’ll tell you what, it had poor Cameron blushing like I’d never seen him before.

“And she wasn’t the only one, either. Girls all over town started staring at him, and it wasn’t too long before they started doing more than that, too.” Edna nods. “Yep, everything in a skirt started going after my boy. Flat out chasing him, near about. We went down to the grocery store, and had to be ten girls trying to grab him. Even the cashier was climbing over her register, saying she’d finally found her prince charming.”

Sam and Dean exchange looks. “Had anything like this ever happened to him before?”

“Oh no!” Edna says, laughing. “It was always the opposite. Cameron could already even talk to a pretty girl; and I hate to say it, but they never really took the time to talk to him, either. But I told him if he was just patient it would happen. They’d see just how special he was.” She sighs and looks off towards the door, her expression suddenly speculative. “It was funny the cashier said that, actually - the he was her ‘prince charming.’ Because, you see, that’s what I’d always told Cameron. I’d told him that he just had to be patient; that the right girl would find him one day, she just might have to kiss a few frogs first.”

“Do you have any idea where Cameron might have gone?” Dean asks. “You said he was missing - do you think he might have run away, trying to get away from whatever the hell’s happening?”

“Maybe,” she says. She reaches down and pulls a lever that raises her footrest. She shifts in her seat, getting comfortable, then props her feet, clad in fuzzy pink house shoes, up on the foot rest. She looks even smaller, nestled in the chair, and Sam feels a pang of sympathy for her and her missing son. “He was eating up all the attention at first.” She smiles indulgently. “Of course he would, though, I can’t blame him for that. But it was getting worse and worse, and I think it was really starting to get to him. He told me he was going for a walk, just to clear his head.” She sniffs. “Even promised to be back for supper. But I haven’t seen him since.”

“Well, could you tell us where he’d have gone for this walk?” Dean asks. “We want to find him for, uh... For an interview.”

“All right,” Edna says, “but my brother already looked for him and couldn’t find anything. I’ll give you the address, though. I told the police he was missing, but they said that I’m worrying too much - told me that once things settle down a bit, he’ll come home. I just pray nothing’s happened to him.”

* * *

Running through a swamp is exhausting, Sam decides. They are all muddy and miserable - even Cas, who practically makes it his job to ignore any physical unpleasantness he encounters, is actively projecting irritation.

They’d found Cameron Barlow after about an hour of searching. They’d heard voices, and followed them to find two women yelling at each other, arguing over who got to kiss him next. It turns out that Cameron had found a piece of Cas’s grace - another feather - and had used whatever mojo it held to give himself his own fairy tale ending. It had backfired, though, and instead of turning from a frog into a man, he’d started turning from a man into a frog. They’d gotten the feather from him, Cas had fixed the frog problem, and then they’d all trekked back to the car.

"Fuck," Dean says, reaching down to pick up the key to their room from where it lay on the ground. Sam aims a quick glare at the back of his brother's head, matted down and crusted with mud. Dean is Dean however, so he doesn't notice, not that he would care if he did of course, but Sam figures he might be racking up some good karma for at least trying to chastise him. Dean scratches at a bug bite, red and inflamed, on the back of his neck. "Welcome home, boys," he says, unlocking the door and pulling down the handle, pushing it open with his shoulder. He doesn't look back as Cas and Sam follow him inside, slipping off his jacket and dropping it down on the bed nearest the door. 

The set of his shoulders is stiff under his t-shirt and he stalks into the bathroom and shuts the door hard enough to rattle the watercolor painting on the wall. It's of a vase of flowers, soft reds and blues and yellows, their heads bent gently towards the ground. It's not exactly cheery.

Sam sighs and sinks down in the chair by the air conditioning unit. Cas extends one hand and pushes and the door slowly closes behind him. He stands in front of it for a moment, staring down at the carpet at his feet. Sam watches him, notices the way his hands clench at his sides, the way he's stiff - naturally, humanly stiff, his muscles tense and the movement automatic. He probably doesn't even realize he's doing it.

The sound of water rushes in from the bathroom and Castiel's eyes dart towards the door. His lips part and for a second Sam thinks he's going to say something - but then his eyes just flicker downward again and the room stays silent.

It's pretty awkward, actually, but Sam tries not to let it bother him. He opens his laptop and turns it on. Cas, predictably, doesn't move. It's not that he doesn't like Cas - he does, really, but he's never going to have the relationship with Cas that Dean does. And Cas is more subdued than usual, anyway, after ingesting another piece of grace.

"What?" Castiel asks, noticing Sam's eyes on him.

Sam shakes his head. "Uh, nothing. Nothing, sorry."

Castiel blinks like what he really wants to do is roll his eyes.

Dean's shower doesn't take long, and he's strolling out of the bathroom a few minutes later, one of the towels slung around his waist. He grabs his bag and ducks back into the bathroom long enough to change. 

"Your turn," he tells Sam, taking a seat on one of the beds. He scratches his neck again and looks over at Cas. "Hey," he says, beckoning Cas over with a jerk of his head, "can you heal this bug bite for me? Hurts like a son of a bitch."

His eyes narrow. "It's nothing but a minor inconvenience, Dean." Which is Cas-speak for no.

Dean falls back onto the bed. "Come on, Cas," he whines. "Fix it."

Sam can hardly believe that Dean would have the audacity to even ask - but then, he thinks, no, of course he can believe it, because it’s Dean. And of course Dean, being Dean and kind of a dick even at the best of times, would ask Cas to use his mojo - if he even had it still - to heal something as insignificant as a bug bite. 

Cas rolls his eyes but goes over to Dean. “Right here,” Dean says, pointing to the back of his neck.

“I’m... not sure I can,” Cas says.

Dean snorts. “Sure you can. You just ate another one of those feathers, right? I thought you were getting stronger.”

“I am.”

“Then you can fix it.”

Cas lets out a breath similar to a sigh, then holds two fingers up to Dean’s neck. His brows furrow and he touches the bite. It takes about half a second of concentration, then Cas is pulling his fingers back, looking surprised to see the skin he’d just been touching unblemished. “Oh,” he says, his arm falling slowly to his side.

Dean looks up at him, beaming. “See?” he says. He stands up and pats Cas on the shoulder. “Knew you could do it. Now Sam, you go get a shower because dude - you reek. And Cas, get some sleep or whatever the hell it is you need to do to recharge.” He holds up his cell phone and shakes it a little. “I gotta call Lisa.”

* * *

Dean has a dream that night.

Air snaps around him and he opens his eyes. He’s standing on a beach - it’s empty of everything, of any signs of sentient life other than himself. The clean, white sand stretches on for as far as he can see in three directions, and in front of him is the ocean. Deep, endless blue. It’s calm, except for one patch of roiling water a little way off from shore. He shades his eyes and looks out, trying to see what’s interrupting the peaceful, secluded paradise.

The water swirls around in a circle, faster and faster until it makes a whirlpool. Whitecapped waves crash around in, churning up the water. The center of the pool pulls downward further and further and Dean wonders if it’ll drain the whole ocean dry.

But then he catches sight of something else. Something golden and pointed, peeking out above the water.

The whole beach seems to catch its breath, waiting, and after a moment of anticipatory stillness something bursts, whole and newly born, out above the water.

“Cas,” Dean breathes, so startled he takes an involuntary step back. It’s Castiel, but not as Dean’s ever seen him before. He has three pairs of huge, golden wings, the feathers irridescent and sharp, catching every beam of light and shining so bright it seems like they’re burning. His upper torso is naked - clean, pale skin with water droplets sliding down in bold, blasphemous little trails. His arms seem normal, but they end in hands like Dean’s never seen on any man - with long, thin fingers that end in pointed, steely claws. 

And from his navel down, his body is covered in shiny green scales. It starts as just a smattering, a few here and there, set distinct from the skin. But the further down Dean looks, the thicker they get, until it’s not skin at all anymore - it’s just thick scales, in a dewy emerald green. Where his legs should be there’s a thick tail. It’s not small, it’s gigantic, like a dragon’s, curling around twice, spiraling into a huge, dark fin. And it takes Dean a moment to realize, struck dumb as he is, but Cas isn’t regular sized. He’s enormous, the size of a building, rising out of the water like some winged Godzilla. 

Dean hiccups nervously, stumbling backwards further. Cas’s eyes snap open and they shoot straight to Dean.

“ _Dean_ ,” he thinks. His eyes start to glow, and then they erupt into beams of blinding light. He thrashes, hard, his tail hitting the water with loud smacks. His mouth opens and light beams out. His wings spread out wide, and he rises up further like some ancient aquatic god.

He’s not sure why he does it, but something compels him to move closer and Dean runs, nearly tripping over his own feet in the loose sand, down to the water’s edge. The waves hit him hard and he watches as the sky turns a dark, ominous gray. Thunderheads gather behind Cas and the ocean turns dark and more turbulent.

Dean stands, despite the water pummeling him. And his eyes never leave Cas. The waves keep at it, hitting him over and over until he can’t remember the feeling of ever being dry. His body soaks up the water and he feels something inside him crumble. The water froths, and as each subsequent wave hits him he breathes in, and he feels a part of himself recede with it towards the ocean. His clothes disappear, torn apart by the force of the water, and he stands naked in the sand, baptized by the salty waves. The foam clings to his skin and he shivers. It becomes him, and he melts into the water, until he dissolves into the ocean, nothing more than foam.

* * *

Dean holds out two postcards for Sam to inspect. “Which of these is better?” he asks. “I mean, which do you think a kid would like?”

“I don’t know,” Sam says, shrugging. “They both look pretty much the same to me. And instead of sending Ben a postcard, anyway, why don’t you just call him? You haven’t talked to him in two weeks.”

Dean shrugs, looking uncomfortable. “I told him I’d send him postcards, okay? I’ve been doing it since we left anyway.” Sam looks at him dubiously, but Dean ignores him, saved by Cas timely walking by. “Cas!” he says, grabbing him by the back of the coat. “Which of these is better?” He holds up the postcards again. “For Ben.”

Cas looks at them seriously for a moment, then plucks the left one out of Dean’s hand. “This one,” he says. 

“Awesome,” Dean says, sticking the other one back in its wire rack. “You guys ready to go then?” They make their purchases - the postcard for Dean, and a couple of bottles of water, plus a Red Bull for Cas - and then head back to the Impala. It’s been slow going for awhile, the last two leads they found turning out to be nothing. Cas can still sense his grace, but the longer he goes without finding another piece, the harder it is for him to feel them. He gets weaker, too, both Winchesters notice; he doesn’t complain, but he’s nearly always exhausted. They need to get lucky, and soon, or who knows what’s going to happen to Cas.

They’re on their way to California to investigate some recently discovered cave. Apparently - or at least according to the swirl of rumors surrounding it - any couple who goes in there is destined to stay together forever. It sounds like horse shit, as far as Dean’s concerned, but it does seem there could be something going on, and Cas seems more sure about this than any other leads they’d found.

“So,” Sam says, plucking at the knee of his jeans. Dean shoots him a look from the corner of his eye; Sam just smirks. “Who’s going to be the couple once we get there?”

Dean’s ears heat up, but before he can say anything, Cas speaks up. “Dean and I will,” he says, way too matter-of-factly for Dean’s comfort. “It will have to be me,” he explains, leaning up from where he’s been lounging on the back seat. “Because I’m the only one able to recognize my grace. And if we have to deceive them into thinking we’re a couple, I think Dean and I would be more convincing.” He gives Sam a look. “No offense meant, Sam.”

Sam waves Cas’s words away. “None taken,” he says, grinning at Dean. 

It sets Dean’s teeth on edge. “Hey, _no one_ is going to be a couple with anyone. Cas’ll go in, get the grace, get out. Easy.”

* * *

Things are never easy when you’re a Winchester.

An attractive woman in a pink suit surveys the three men, tapping her ballpoint pen against the clipboard she carries. “And... which of you will be going in?”

“I will,” Castiel says, looking much more like he’s going into battle than on a vacation - which is supposed to be their cover. He steps forward and peers at the clipboard. “My name is Castiel. C... A...”

“Right, right, got it,” the woman says with a nod, scribbling something down on her form. “And which of these handsome young men is your partner?”

Cas frowns and gives Dean a look that very clearly says _I-told-you-so_. “I would like to go in by myself,” he says deliberately.

The woman shakes her head. “Oh, I’m sorry, couples only.”

“It’s, uh... Me,” Dean says. He raises one hand, knowing he looks sheepish. “I think it’s pretty dumb but he wants to go so.” He shrugs and glances at Cas.

The woman - her name tag says Betsy Cramer - perks back up immediately. “Wonderful!” she says. She beams and pats Cas gently on the shoulder. “Don’t worry,” she tells him, leaning in like it’s a secret, “one visit here will be enough to convince him.” She winks and Dean can’t keep himself from rolling his eyes. If anyone is the difficult boyfriend here, damnit, it sure as hell isn’t Dean. 

It costs fifty bucks per couple to get in, so after shelling out the last of their cash to Betsy, Dean and Cas get in line to go in. There are two couples ahead of them: one’s a pair in their sixties or seventies, and the other is a simpering couple so clingy and affectionate Dean instantly pegs them as newlyweds. They’re also wearing, to his complete disgust, matching outfits.

The elderly couple goes in first, stays and does whatever the hell it is one does in a secret love cave, and then comes out. They look as sedate as they did when they went in, though their hands are now clasped together. The second couple goes in and stays much longer, coming out nearly holding each other up, their arms wrapped around each other. 

“Ahh love,” Betsy says, looking starry-eyed at the two as they climb into their car. Dean makes a gagging motion behind her back; Sam elbows him. “Okay, you two up next,” she says, motioning them forward. Dean and Cas walk down the path and then the dark opening. It’s on the side of a rocky hill, the little set-up built around it to con tourists out of their money obviously pretty recent.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean whispers, nudging him. “This is all a scam, right? Your mojo can’t really do the whole together forever thing can it?”

“One fragment is much weaker than the whole,” Cas answers evasively, which isn’t really an answer at all.

“Hey,” Dean says, “We’re not going to end up like those two assholes who came in before us are we?”

“Dean,” he says, and damn does he sound snippy, “do you really believe _my_ grace could affect me? In any way I don’t intend?”

Dean shrugs, shoulders stiff, “I don’t know,” he says, sounding petulant.

“It can’t.” They walk a little further in. “And don’t worry about yourself; the rumors surrounding this formation say it only strengthens love already there.” He side-eyes Dean. “If you are not in love with me, then you have nothing to worry about.”

That, Dean decides, doesn’t even deserve a response.

The cave is pretty narrow starting out, but the further they go, the wider it gets, until finally it opens up into a large, circular room carved out of a gray, craggy rock. In the middle of the room there’s a pedestal with a protrusion at the top that looks like a bowl. And resting in the bowl, lit by a bulb giving off a faint red light, is a rock. 

Dean gawks. “Dude. Is that shaped like a heart? Un-fucking-believable.”

Castiel sighs. “My grace. That’s where it’s contained.”

“Okay, so just.” Dean makes grabbing motions. “Break that bad boy open so we can go.”

Though he looks unhappy about it, Cas does obey. But as soon as he touches the stone, he draws his hand back like he’s been burned. 

“What the hell’s the matter?” Dean asks, stepping forward. He leans in, inspecting the stone a little closer. “It hot or something?”

Cas rubs his hand. “No,” he says, his brows furrowed. “It didn’t burn. It was a feeling I find... difficult to describe.” He goes to touch it again and this time his fingers stay on it for a few seconds longer. His breathing grows labored, his face flushed, and then he jerks away again. “This should not.” He licks his lips, staring at the rock. “This shouldn’t be affecting me like this.” But even as he says that he’s reaching out again.

It’s probably not one of his brightest ideas, but Cas obviously thinks it’s safe - even if the sensations it produces are strange - so as soon as Cas touches it again, Dean reaches out to do the same.

The moment his fingers hit the stone it’s like his whole world shifts. His mind feels blown wide open. Hot, fierce arousal churns up his stomach, and he can feel his body building to climax even without anything helping it along. 

“Holy shit,” Dean says, pulling away. He grins at Cas. “Orgasm rock.” His first instinct is to touch it again - and keep touching it this time, hell yeah - except Castiel’s expression stops him. The angel looks almost mystified, staring at the rock in a mix of fascination and bewilderment. “You okay, man?”

“I’m fine,” Cas answers sharply. He’s annoyed by Dean’s chatter - and yeah, some of that’s apparent just by looking at his face, but Dean _feels_ that annoyance. And Cas really, really wants to touch that rock; Dean’s not sure how he knows that, but he does, like he’s in Castiel’s head, feeling the warm pulse of desire flaring through the angel’s body.

“I only want to get my grace out of it, Dean, nothing else,” Cas says suddenly, sounding even more pissy than he did a second ago. And that’s pretty fucking _bizarre_ , because it’s a response to what he was thinking. Not what he said - what he _thought_.

"Dude, what the fuck?" Dean says, glaring at Cas. "You reading my mind?"

The confused expression on Cas's face gets dark, and he looks away from Dean. "Not by choice, I assure you." He purses his lips. "It's like... Something is pushing it into my head. I can't not see it." He shifts, looking uncomfortable. "It is... I don't like it. I’m not sure what’s happening."

Dean relaxes, glad to find Cas's little mind-reading stunt hadn't been intentional. Actually, he might have been reading Cas’s mind, too; it explains how he knew what he was feeling. "Not a big deal,” Dean explains. "You’re just... getting a little worked up."

Cas frowns. "What do you mean?"

"You know," he says. "Turned on. Getting hot from whatever whammy that grace-rock put on you.” Dean shrugs. “When I touched it, I felt the same thing.”

"Oh." Cas looked down on the floor, apparently lost in thought. "I don't... I don't think so," he says, "though I suppose that could be the cause for my discomfort. It's..." He pauses, taking a breath to try to work out precisely what he was feeling. He shifts his shoulders, and Dean was uncomfortably aware of how human the gesture was - how physical.

He’s been noticing that more and more lately. He’d been noticing Cas more in general, actually, though only recently had that notice started taking on a keener, physical edge. Castiel is pretty - Dean knows. He is, in fact, uncomfortably aware of that. Cas had those same fucking dreams he did, the crazy ones with the tiger and a whole hell of a lot of Dean’s jizz. Maybe Cas can’t recognize normal arousal because all he ever feels is a freakish desire to get Dean off while _he is a fucking tiger_. And that makes Dean wonder - had Cas ever gotten off at all? He was practically terrified in that whorehouse, and it seemed pretty damn unlikely he’d ever taken the time to sort his virginity out on his own.

“Dean,” Cas says, and his eyes are dark and he’s staring at Dean in a way that makes Dean feel nothing more than a piece of meat. “You...” He looks away for a moment before clearing his throat and turning back again, his gaze even sharper. “You remember that. The dreams?” He licks his lips and Dean feels his heart skip, thumping against his chest. Jesus, just what the hell is Cas up to, bringing shit like this up?

“I...” Dean coughs. “Yeah,” he says. “I remember. Fuck, Cas, who wouldn’t remember a dream that fucked up? Especially if they’d dreamed that shit _more than fucking once_. You... You practically molested me, dude,” he all but spits out.

“I did nothing like that,” Cas says, eyes going dark with anger. “I _remade_ you. I... did not anticipate the...” He looks away, his gaze suddenly shifty. “I did not anticipate your reaction.”

“You mean the fact that you gave me a fucking orgasm?”

Cas presses his lips together and looks positively pissy. “Yes. That.”

Dean rolls his eyes. Things between them have suddenly gotten tense, and he’s uncomfortably aware of how small the room they’re in is. “Look,” he says, keeping his gaze off Cas, “let’s just break this thing open, get the grace, and get back to Sam. Agreed?”

Cas nods and together they grab the stone. This time, though, the feeling is ten times more intense than it was before. Whether it’s because with each touch the stone’s power is magnified, or because they’re touching it together, emotions heightened, Dean isn’t sure. But the feeling is so intense it takes his breath away. He lets go of the stone - half reluctantly, he can admit to himself - and even though he’s no longer touching it there’s a tingling up and down his body, centered in his groin. Cas doesn’t seem to have the same strength of will.

His hand is gripping the stone so tightly his knuckles have turned white, and his head is thrown back, the long, pale column of his throat lit up by the rosy light from the pedestal. His shoulders hunch up and then cables of smoke spring from his back in a shapeless, gray haze. He gasps, his breathing hitching as the smoke starts to solidify, taking shaping into oily, black wings. Shadow drips from half-formed feathers as the great, billowy forms Dean once saw in an old barn become powerful - tangible - black wings. And if Cas thought the adolescent growths Dean had were exceptional... then he had never seen his own. There was no comparison between them; Cas’s wings are exceptional, they are _magnificent_ , they made the wings given to Dean look no greater than the wings of a dirty pigeon. 

“Dean,” Cas says, his voice gone breathy, pitched higher from the physical sensations the stone is causing. “Dean,” he says again, louder. The wings pump up and down once, causing a burst of cool wind to flood the room. Castiel’s whole body starts to shake and he swallows once, then again, then - still clutching the stone - a swirl of light explodes outward, lighting up the room. Dean’s eyes burn, scorched by the violent brightness, and he looks away from Cas, squeezing his eyes shut and covering them with his forearm.

Cas screams - not in his angelic voice, not with any supernatural force; he just screams, a warm, human sound of pleasure.

 _Jesus_ , Dean thinks, maybe he shouldn’t have let go of that stone. 

The scream gains volume and Cas’s wings start flapping harder; the whole cave starts to tremble.

“Shit,” Dean says aloud, kiting towards Cas. “You’re going to bring the whole thing down!” he yells. “Just stop. Let go, you jackass!”

But either Cas doesn’t hear him or he’s too far gone to make sense of what’s said, because he doesn’t do anything but stand there and scream. And then, in one final push that makes the whole earth around them start to move, his wings beat harder and his voice moves into a high, painful melody - and it hurts Dean to listen to it, it does, but it’s one of the most beautiful damn things he’s ever heart. His arm moves from in front of his eyes and he covers his ears. HIs hands feel wet - probably blood, he realizes - and he falls to his knees as the cave starts to collapse around them.

* * *

The cave-in only lasts for a few seconds, Dean thinks - maybe a minute, he’s not sure. But he wasn’t hurt and when he stands up he sees Cas wasn’t either.

“Hey,” he says, brushing himself off. “You back with us now?”

Cas doesn’t answer. He takes the stone in both hands and throws it to the ground, hard. It splits clean down the middle, and just as Cas had predicted there was a glowing feather laying on the ground between the halves. Cas sticks out a hand, palm towards the feather. It floats up to him, propelled by its own power, the golden light flickering out like a trail behind it. Cas doesn’t eat this one, like Dean expects; instead, he just absorbs it into his hand. His fingers clench spasmodically for a moment or two, and then his arm falls back down to his side. 

“We got what we came for,” he says, suddenly all-business, and not at all like some asshole who just came so hard he brought the whole room down with him. “We can go.”

Dean has to remind himself more than once that punching Cas in his stupid face would probably cause more harm than good. “Okay,” he says instead, licking his lips and looking around. “And just how do you suggest we do that?”

Cas points to where they’d come in; it’s covered by rubble. “We dig.”

At first it seems like a daunting task, but after a closer inspection it looks like things weren’t nearly as bad as Dean thought. Cas, apparently, was a lot more flash than substance in the earthquakes and orgasms department. 

There’s a little room to move around and together they kneel in front of the exit. Cas pulls out a large rock near the top, sending a mini landslide tumbling down. He coughs and sets the rock aside.

“Careful,” Dean barks. “Trying to bury us alive once was more than enough for me.” He thinks around how lucky he is that they have any room to maneuver at all, because being buried alive once ever was more than enough for him. 

Cas coughs again and wipes sweat from his forehead. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice hoarse. He looks exhausted, too, his face pale. “But it wasn’t luck. Once I realized what was happening I tried to stop it; before my wings dematerialized I used them to protect us.”

“Oh.” Dean shrugs, not looking at him as he continues to dig. “Thanks, I guess.”

“We don’t have to dig far,” Cas says. “And I’m sure Sam is on the other side digging as well.”

“Good,” Dean grunts. And he continues to dig.

Cas was right - he’s not much help after getting his grace back and it takes them the better part of just past an hour, but they do get it. Sam grabs Dean as soon as he can, pulling him into a tight hug. 

“It’s okay, Sammy,” Dean says, patting his brother’s back. “I’m fine. Cas is fine.” To which Cas responds by losing consciousness. 

Betsy apologizes profusely, but they just wave her worries away as the Winchesters haul Cas to the car. She refunds their money, and they sign something saying they won’t sue, and then they’re on their way.

Cas wakes up just before they pull into a hotel, looking a little better than he did before. He and Sam check in and Dean goes to grab some food. After a quick supper and a rock-paper-scissors for the beds - turns out Cas is even worse than Dean, and gets stuck with the floor - they all try to get some sleep.

And that night, Dean dreams.

* * *

“Cas, what the hell are you doing?” Dean scuttles backwards on his ass, half-afraid of the bulbous, writhing mass in front of him. Scratch that, he thinks, absolutely fully fucking _afraid_. Or at least he should be. He should be screaming, trying to gank it, trying to get away, not just shuffling away like he’s nothing but nervous. It’s gotta be more than nerves, right?

The Cas-thing doesn’t answer. Not in words, anyway, and not even - like before - in Dean’s head. Instead the whole world around them starts to rumble, and Dean feels... He _feels_ , like the thing’s warped emotions are being projected into him.

“Oh shit,” he breathes, something like fear burbling up through his nervous system. It starts at his feet and he can feel it rise, can feel the fear like a crawling, visceral thing moving upwards. He claws at his chest but the feeling doesn’t stop and the Cas-thing starts to project remorse, pain at having hurt him. “Fuck,” Dean says, taking a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. There’s a deeper rumble and then something else pulses - it’s a weird feeling, claustrophobic and warm. It makes the hair on his arms stand up and an itchy feeling courses up him, making his skin crawl. 

Castiel moves forward, propelling himself with the tentacles closer to Dean. Even though the movements are slow, there’s an urgency there that Dean can feel. An urgency, and again, that thing close to fear. When it reaches him, it stretches one tentacle forward. Dean tries to draw back, but the tentacle surges with him and reaches out, touching his chest. 

That makes something light up inside him and he realizes finally what the bulbous, pulsating mass of Cas-jelly wants. “The piece of grace inside me?” he asks. “You’re trying to get that, right?”

The tentacles all start to twitch, writhing and stretching. Dean gulps as he feels a tremor and a wave of foreign relief wash over him. That’s agreement, he knows. It’s just... He’s seen enough porn to imagine already how agreeing to let a tentacle go inside him is going to end. “Uh.” He looks down at the tentacle moving up towards his neck. “How exactly is this going to work? I can just get it for you, right? Like pull it out on my own?”

The tentacles don’t really give him much of an answer; the wave of emotion he feels is mostly confusion. Another tentacle wraps around his waist and two more twine up his arms. The mass vibrates, and it emits a noise that Dean almost wants to describe as a purr. The tip of one tentacle traces the shell of his ear and he gets the disquieting feeling that all the weird touching is supposed to be comforting.

“So then, uh. There’s not going to be any insert tab a into slot b going on.”

The tentacles make some sinuous, wriggling movements, almost like they’re caressing him. The excruciatingly clear message is that there won’t be - _if he doesn’t want there to be_. That opens up a whole kinky can of worms regarding himself that Dean doesn’t even want to begin to examine, and he’s quick to shake his head without even considering it. “No,” he says, “no. Definitely don’t want that.”

There’s no head so it can’t nod, but the tentacles do make a shaky movement Dean takes to mean assent. One pushes up his shirt and then dips into his navel. Dean doesn’t have time to push it away or really react at all, before he feels a pointed heat pushing into his belly.

“What the fuck,” Dean spits out, trying to wriggle away from the invasive feeling, but the tentacle just surges in further, and the others wrap tighter around his body. Then they still and Dean holds his breath, wondering what’s going to happen. A moment passes as he gets used to the feeling; it doesn’t hurt - at least it’s not pain like he’s used to describing it. The area around the tentacle burns, but inside, where he knows it is, in the broad cavity of his chest, feels lit up. When he doesn’t protest further, when his body goes loose and he gives a short nod, the tentacle starts moving. It probes around, looking for the piece of grace lodged inside him. There’s a dark pulse of radiant pleasure, a burning that sets his whole body searing like a bottle rocket. It’s good, holy fuck it’s _good_ , and Dean groans, wondering if maybe Cas has just never seen tentacle porn before, and this is his best approximation.

Because every swipe the tentacle makes in his gut sends another wave of sizzling hot pleasure lancing through him. If he comes from this, he thinks, if he gets _another_ fucking orgasm from some weird ass dream of Cas’s, then he’s going to go absolutely bugshit insane. 

It’s too late, though, because the tentacle suddenly reaches its destination, the whatever-it-is bit of grace that it’s been looking for. And it stops, pauses, just for half a second and Dean barely notices that _half a fucking second_ except for the momentous precipice it puts him on, before it’s pushing him over the edge and plunging deeper deeper deeper until it’s buried in so far he thinks it might actually be a part of him. And then it moves, curving upward, and the feeling intensifies so much it feels like he’s exploding, like all the inside parts of him are moving inexorably to the outside. What’s worse is that the movement is like a caress, like the tentacle is stroking him, like while on its journey to The Center of Dean it found some nice organs it liked and decided to give them a few pets.

 _Oh fuck_ , Dean thinks, _oh no_ , because it’s his heart, isn’t it? It’s probably his heart. There’s really nothing else it can be, is there, because he has the tentacle of his awkward best friend-angel inside his body in one of his dreams and he’s about to come so hard that it might actually blow his dick off. And, god, no, no not that, because the last thing Dean thinks about the rom-com hentai survival horror story that is his life is that maybe maybe next time he’d like to try one of those tentacles wrapped around his dick.

It’s that thought - and an embarrassing situation in his boxers - to which he has the pleasure of waking up. He groans, pulling the pillow out from under his head and putting it over his face. Maybe he can pretend that never happened. Maybe. He throws the pillow onto the floor and sits up, scrubbing at his eyes. Sam’s still asleep in the other bed, snoring faintly, one foot hanging half off the mattress. His toes twitch and Dean grunts disdainfully; whatever he’s dreaming about, it probably isn’t getting his organs molested by a fucking tentacle monster of the Lord. 

He feels grimy, and he has to piss, so he gets out of bed. There’s no Cas on the floor, though, and there’s a thin line of yellow light coming from under the bathroom door. Dean knocks gently once and says “Cas? Are you almost done? And what the hell are you doing in there, anyway?”

“Nothing,” is the muffled reply, and Dean decides to risk it, turning the knob and stepping inside. He closes the door behind him. Cas is standing there, in front of the toilet. He’s still wearing the same suit he always wears, though Dean notices there’s a distinct odor coming off him now. He takes a seat on the lip of the bathtub.

“Dude,” he says, “you reek.”

Castiel doesn’t look at him. “This isn’t working,” he says. His voice is hoarse; he sounds weary, and Dean can’t help but notice the slump of his shoulders and the dark smudges under heavy eyes. 

“What’s not?”

Cas lifts one hand to his face. He stares at his fingers as he flexes them. He makes a tight fist and then releases it. “My grace,” he says, turning his hand to look at the back of it. “Without that I am... nothing. Just this shell.” He finally looks over at Dean. There’s something frightening in his expression, something that makes Dean take note, even if he doesn’t understand what he’s seeing. “It appears that with each piece of grace I find I become more human.” He lowers his hand and stares at the fucking toilet like he learned all this from it. “Not less.”

Dean’s not sure what to say. Congratulations? Sorry? He licks his lips and waits. 

“You should leave,” Cas says, after at least ten full seconds of silence. “I have to use the facilities.”

“Uh.” Dean clears his throat and makes a vague gesture somewhere near the region of Castiel’s groin.

Castiel looks at him. “I have to take a piss,” he clarifies.

“And shower,” Dean says, standing up and wrinkling his nose. “I guess, uh, sweating is something you do now, too. Kind of thought the sleeping thing was just a fluke.”

“So did I.”

Dean knows he should leave, knows he should let Cas do his business so that he can do his own, but. Something about his voice - so dejected, so worn-out and dog tired, makes Dean want to stay. It almost makes him want to _help_ , though he sure as hell doesn’t know what he could do.

The moment stretches on, and Dean’s growing more and more fidgety, until he can’t stand it and says “You could at least lose that suit you’re wearing. Gotta be uncomfortable. Me and Sam’ll give you something to wear.”

Cas looks at Dean, and then down at himself. Movements stiff. He slides the coat off his shoulders, then hands it to Dean. Dean doesn’t know if that means Cas wants to keep it or wants it laundered or thrown out or what, but he senses that he should wait to ask. Then Cas undoes his tie and pulls it over his head. That, he throws on the floor. The shirt follows. There are sweat stains at his pits, and what probably used to be a crisp, clean white has dulled to a soft, dirty sort of gray. His body is pale and lean, the skin of his torso smooth except for the pink, puckered scar of the old angel banishing sigil he carved into his body. Dean stares a little; he can’t help it. He’s seen Cas partially undressed before, but it’s still weird. Even weirder, now that it’s his skin, now that it’s a body he fully owns. And Cas has nipples. Real, normal man nipples. Dean shifts his eyes away.

When Cas shoves his pants down his legs and steps out of them, all he’s left in are his black dress socks and white cotton briefs.

“Um.” Dean’s voice comes out higher than he expected, and he clears his throat. He looks at the towels; it’s safe to look at towels. “You should probably keep those on.” Cas looks at his feet. “You look like a giant baby,” Dean says, too loud and too fast. “I mean... Tightie-whities? Really? You’re a grown man; we’re going to get you some grown ass underwear.”

Castiel’s brow wrinkles, and he looks up at Dean, his head tilted. Like he has no fucking clue what Dean is talking about. 

_Of course he doesn’t_ , Dean thinks. He blinks as Cas stares at him and tries to remember why he was even in that bathroom in the first place. 

“Dean,” Cas says, and his voice is obviously deliberate. “I need to take a shower now.”

“I thought you had to pee,” Dean says. He feels trapped, like Cas has cornered him somehow, and the whole experience has shifted into something surreal. And Jesus, he’d had that weird as fuck tentacle dream and if Cas remembered their other dreams, then he must remember that one, too. “I dreamed about you,” he says, because he’s not sure what else to do - except leave, he knows he should leave, Cas is going to be very naked very soon and Dean kind of wants to gouge out his eyes just thinking about that because there’s already enough skin showing as it is and Dean’s brain goes fuzzy just thinking about Cas stripping out of his briefs. Not good, he thinks. This is not good. “I must have woken up about a minute after you did,” he continues. “I didn’t see you come in here.”

“I remember,” Cas says. He looks down and for a second Dean wonders if that’s all he’s going to say about it. It’s all he says, yeah, because a second later he’s reaching up, his fingertips resting against Dean’s chest, in a possessive circle right at his heart. Dean can feel warmth even through the t-shirt he’s wearing. He swallows. “There is a piece of me still inside you,” Cas says, staring at Dean’s chest like he can see through it. “In a... less conscious state, I must have reached out for it.”

His eyes dart up to Dean’s, quick, and the little bastard looks shifty. He licks his lips and draws his hand away. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“Uh.” 

Cas steps around him and turns the water on. Dean moves backwards until his back’s against the door. He thinks absently maybe he needs a shower, too. Cas almost-looks at him before he leans down and tugs his socks off, left foot then right. And then he slides his briefs off - down his pale legs with sparse hair and strong calves. Dean stands there, still, and Cas steps under the water. He shivers and Dean wonders if he knows that showers are better when they’re warm. Poor guy probably couldn’t figure out how to work the hot and cold knobs.

Dean wants a shower. Dean wants a very cold shower. He wants a lot of things, he thinks, and he’s not sure why, not sure where that thought came from, but he knows that he needs to go. Now.

When he tries to speak, his throat feels like there’s something lodged in it. “I’m gonna...”

“Go. Yes,” Cas says. His arms are wrapped around his body; he looks up then, and seems to notice the shower curtain he never bothered pulling closed. Whether he only now realized what it was for or just remembered to close it, Dean doesn’t know. But Cas yanks it, the hooks pulling across the metal rod as it closes the shower off.

Dean throws the door open and throws himself out of the room, closing the door as quick as he can behind him. His breathing his fast and he feels guilty, checking again to make sure Sam is there, and asleep. He grabs his pillow from the floor and crawls back into bed.

Whatever he got up for, he decides, can wait until morning.

* * *

The next morning Dean can’t help how twitchy he is, and he knows Sam notices. But whatever the fuck happened last night with Cas still has him on edge and if he’s snappy it’s really not his fault.

They get through breakfast normally; Cas, for his part, doesn’t seem any different. A little morose, maybe, but that’s sort of become par for the course. He doesn’t say anything to Sam about his sudden human-ness, though he does ask the brothers if he can borrow something different to wear. Sam just looks at Dean until Dean rolls his eyes and digs through his stuff for an extra shirt and pair of jeans. He throws them at Cas and Cas thanks him, voice placid as ever, and goes to the bathroom to change.

Their next destination, Cas tells them as they pile into the car, is somewhere south of where they are now.

“The pulse of grace is stronger,” he says, poring over a US atlas in the Impala’s backseat. “I’m not sure why, but I think I can pinpoint where we need to go more easily than I’ve been able to before.” His fingers dance over the pages and he stares like the maps are staring back. He lands somewhere in the Mississippi delta when he finally looks up. “Here,” he says, tapping the spot with the knuckle of his index finger. Sam turns from the passenger seat to look, and Cas hands him the book. “That’s where we need to go.”

They drive. It’s comfortable, maybe even _nice_ , Dean thinks to himself. He hums along with the song playing as Cas stares out the window and Sam snores in the front seat. He knows Lisa is waiting for him; he misses her, misses Ben, sometimes so much it hurts. But. He looks in the rearview mirror. Now he has Sam and Cas. Cas catches his eye in the mirror and offers a thin smile. Dean grins back and lets himself wonder if maybe when this is over they can do this again. Just a quick break from whatever’s going to become of their lives. And maybe Lisa and Ben can come, too. Maybe. Or maybe it’ll just be him and Sam and Cas again. They can go see the Grand Canyon. Mount Rushmore. Some of that dumb touristy shit like giant balls of yarn or celebrity wax museums. Maybe they can drive for as long as they have road to drive on. 

Sam grunts and wakes up suddenly, looking around the car like he can’t remember where he is. Dean laughs and ruffles his shaggy hair as hard as he can, suddenly buoyant.

“God, Dean, stop it,” Sam says, pushing him away with his elbow and smoothing down his hair. He rakes his fingers through those luscious locks of his and slumps down in his seat. “Watch the goddamn road. Jerk.”

Dean sits up straighter, the grin on his face so big he thinks it might be plastered on. “Bitch,” he answers. Cas just sits in the back and smiles.

* * *

It’s hot. Sweet Jesus it’s so hot Dean thinks his face might melt off and wouldn’t that just be the best fucking thing to happen this week. He hopes that he’s in front of Cas and Sammy when it melts so they have to walk through a sticky, bloody pile of goo and get his fucking face all over their feet. They deserve it; they’’re the ones who dragged him out here.

Dean sighs. “All right, we checked - but whoops, no grace. Can we go now?”

Sam shoots him a pissy glare. “No,” he says, striding in front of his brother. “We don’t know yet whether there’s a piece of his grace here or not.”

“There is.” Dean looks back at Cas, who’s staring intently at the dusty ground. “I can feel it now; I’m sure.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Great,” he mutters. “Just great.”

They walk up the well-trodden path to the house. It’s enormous, two stories with a big wraparound porch, the sides painted in a crisp white.

“Nice digs,” Sam says with a whistle, looking around the place. They walk up the three steps leading to the porch.

“Yeah,” Dean grunts. “Nice.”

“Dean,” Cas says suddenly, a note of caution in his voice. He grabs Dean’s arm.

Sam doesn’t seem to notice, already ringing the doorbell. “What is it?” Dean asks, looking back at Cas. 

Cas releases his arm. “I don’t...” His eyes narrow as he looks around. “I don’t know,” he says, voice low. “But something isn’t right here. I can sense... something. But I don’t know what. We should be careful.”

Dean nods and they step closer to Sam. After another second or two of waiting, the big wooden door swings inward.

A short, curvy woman dressed in dirty clothes obviously meant for gardening looks up at them. “Can I help you?” she asks, smiling, through the screen door. “Are you here to see the gardens?” 

“Um, yes ma’am,” Sam says, ducking his head a little. “We’re here to see the gardens.”

“Oh wonderful,” she says. They step back a little as she opens the screen. “Come inside, boys. I’ll be happy to give you a tour.”

The three of them follow her inside. It’s a little incongruous seeing her, dirty and wearing work clothes, against the backdrop of the house’s interior. It’s beautiful, obviously old and well cared for, with nice furnishings and a thick, expensive looking rug on the floor in front of big staircase.

“This way,” she says, beckoning them to follow her with a wave of her hand. They all troop through the front room into the kitchen. She grabs a big, floppy brown sun hat from a peg by the back door. “Right out here,” she says, holding the door open. Sam goes out, followed by Dean, Cas, and then the woman. “Got five greenhouses,” she says, shutting the door. She steps around the men and points to the one closest to the house. “We’ll start there.”

“Thanks,” Sam says. “Miss, uh...”

“Oh!” She looks back at them and smiles. “Sorry,” she says. “Never introduced myself. It’s Ms. Gardener.”

“Gardener,” Cas repeats. “That is apt.”

She throws her head back and laughs. “Well. Yeah, it is a bit on the nose, isn’t it?”

“It is.” Dean can feel Cas stiffen beside him and looks over, confused. Cas is staring at the woman, a dark expression on his face. “If that is your name.”

Sam and Dean both stare at Cas, but he doesn’t give any more explanation. Gardener crosses her arms and gives Cas a thorough once over. “You know what?” she asks finally, her voice conspicuously light, “I think you boys can handle yourselves just fine. Look through any greenhouse you like; just don’t hurt the plants. I’ll be in the house if you need me.”

“What’s up with her?” Dean asks as they watch her walk away. His shirt is sticking to him and it’s still hot as fuck and he really doesn’t want to add another thing to his list of why today sucks. 

“I’m not sure,” Cas says, softly. “There is... something about her. Something that troubles me. But I don’t think she means us any harm.”

“Well good. Now let’s find that grace so we can get the hell out of here.” Dean heads toward the greenhouse but stops after a few steps when no one follows him. “What,” he says, raising his arms up in exasperation. “I thought we were here to see the damn plants.”

“There’s nothing out there,” Cas says dismissively. “Except for several plants that shouldn’t be able to grow in his climate. What we want is in the house.”

“Okay,” Dean says, looking at Cas. God, the guy is being obtuse. Dean is starting to get more than irritated. “Well then let’s go back inside.”

Sam gives him a look that says ‘how do I deal with you.’ Dean returns one that says fuck you. 

“I think we should tread cautiously,” Cas instructs them. “Dean. Don’t do anything rash.”

Dean rolls his eyes as Cas herds them back inside. Rash. Jesus.

Ms. Gardener - or whoever she is - isn’t in the kitchen when they get inside. Cas takes a look around. He picks up a knife from the counter and examines it for a second. Dean clears his throat. “She’s upstairs,” Cas says. “I think it’s safe to look around.”

Sam and Dean can’t sense the grace, so despite the risk of getting caught being greater, they stick together. As soon as they enter a room that looks like some kind of parlor off to the side of the foyer, though, Cas stiffens. 

“It’s here,” he says. The room’s decorated richly, with paintings on the wall, and vases and sculptures set on little pedestals all over. Cas nods toward one vase. “There.”

Dean walks toward it. There doesn’t look like it’s protected at all; it doesn’t even look that valuable, really, so Dean’s not sure why the grace found that, but. As long as they found it, that’s all that matters.

He looks in. There’s no feather. “Uh, Cas,” he says, “is it... in the vase? Because I’m not seeing anything here.” He picks it up and peers inside again, then turns it to look at the bottom.

“It’s not in the vase,” Cas says. “It’s seeped into it. Literally inside it - inside the material of it.”

“Oh.” Dean nods, examining it again. “Okay.” And then he drops it on the floor, where it shatters.

It’s louder than he expected it to be - it’s louder than it _should_ be - and there’s no way Ms. Gardener isn’t going to notice the sound.

“Dean,” Cas says suddenly, sounding pained. He reaches out towards the vase, an expression of fear on his face, his hand contorted like a claw. “Dean what have you done. It’s... getting away.”

“And just what the hell do the three of you think you’re doing?” They all turn as one to see Gardener staring at them from the doorway, her fists planted on her hips. Her eyes are dark with anger, her mouth turned down.

Cas takes a step toward her, waves of something dark practically radiating off him. “I came to reclaim something that belongs to me.” His eyes narrow further. “And I know who you are now.”

She and Cas have a staredown - ignoring both Winchesters, who are still standing there, struck a bit dumb.

“Um.” Sam clears his throat, running a hand through his hair. “Could you tell us who she is? Uh, please?”

“Demeter,” Cas spits out.

Sam’s eyes go wide and he takes an involuntary step back. “Who?” Dean asks. “Greek, right? She gave her kid up to Hades or something?”

“Hades kidnapped Persephone,” Sam hisses at him. “It’s the story of why we have the seasons.”

“You’re right,” she says, with a graceful nod. It makes her look elegant, despite the dirt on her clothes. “I am Demeter. But who are you?”

“We’re the - “

“I wasn’t asking you,” she says sharply to Dean. But she doesn’t spare him a glance, her attention still focused on Cas. “I was talking to him. Feels like an angel.” She shrugs. “But not much of one.”

“That’s right,” Cas says. He’s still in battle mood and Dean looks back and forth between Demeter and Cas, forming a plan in case anything goes down. “I was looking for - “

“Your power? Whatever was in that vase?” She nods and suddenly the tension in the room starts to ease up some. “Sure as shit was a surprise to me when it crashed here.” She side-eyes Dean, her mouth pressed into a thin line. “I would have returned it. Had you asked.”

Dean rolls his eyes dramatically, feeling all three of them - even Sam, the damn traitor - staring at him. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Okay? Christ.”

“I can fix the vase,” Demeter says, ignoring him. She walks into the room, laying a comforting hand on Cas’s shoulder as she passes by. She kneels down on the floor in front of all the pieces. “But I think you’re out of luck. Whatever you’re looking for isn’t here.” She stands up and wipes her palms on her pants. The vase is sitting, whole, back on it’s stand. “And it’s fractured even further.”

“There’s not...” Sam looks away and then back at her. “There’s not anything you can do, is there?”

“Well.” Her mouth twists up as she contemplates his question. “No. Not really. I can’t fix him - that’s way out of my pantheon. But as for this one piece? I can’t restore it; but I can make it a little easier to find.” She runs her finger around the lip of the vase. Cracks appear suddenly, separating it into big, neat pieces. “Ever hear of the labors of Hercules?”

* * *

“So you can’t sense...” Sam shakes his head, making an expansive gesture with his hands. “Anything?”

“Nothing,” Cas replies. He glances over to Dean, though, and licks his lips. “Except for the pieces of my grace that remain in you and in Dean. I think that... until these _labors_ are completed, the other pieces of grace will be much harder to find.”

Dean snorts. “And it’s not like those are going to be a walk in the park, either.” Certainly not if what Demeter had said was any indication; she might be willing to give Cas some help, but apparently she still hadn't entirely forgiven Dean. And instead of being led right to where they needed to go, they just had to search. And hope.

“We just hunt as usual, then,” Sam says.

“And what?” Dean snaps. “Just keep our fingers crossed that we'll happen across the grace?”

“What else can we do?” Cas asks, his voice edged with hardness. He crosses his arms over his chest, the blades of his shoulders sharp under the thin white cotton of his t-shirt. Dean is forcibly reminded that as impatient as he and Sam might be, as frustrated, their feelings pale in comparison to Cas's. They only feel it on his behalf; he has to endure the pain of being graceless, of becoming more and more human. Dean shifts, his lips pursed, feeling contrite. “If that is the only way to find my grace, Dean, that I fail to see what other choice we have.”

No one says anything for a long moment, Dean conspicuously avoiding Cas's eye. Sam stands up and clears his throat. They both look over to him. “Why don't we go to Bobby's?” he suggests. “It'll be a place to regroup, try to come up with something. Maybe he'll know of something that can help.”

It's not a good plan, Dean thinks, not even by their standards, but at least it's a plan.

* * *

“You're telling me you met Demeter. The Greek goddess. _Demeter_.” Bobby rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his beer; none of them are stupid enough to interrupt him. “What the hell was she doing in the middle of nowhere? What the hell was she doing _here_? Kind of thought the Greeks would be, you know. Somewhere in Greece.”

“With so few devotees,” Cas explains, “it's likely her power is greatly diminished.” He's had to start eating regularly, too, and he spoons through his soup absently. “This is probably one of her...” He frowns and his brows furrow. “I guess you'd call it a vacation home.”

“Sure,” Bobby says, nodding. “Ain't the weirdest thing I've ever heard you idjits come back with by a long shot.” He stands up to take his bowl to the sink. Cas lifts his up towards Bobby to take, as well; the man obviously isn’t happy about it, but he snatches the bowl and stacks it on top of his own. “So what are you going to do now?” he asks, running water to wash the soup dregs away. “If she put a stopper in the grace detector, it sounds like you’re shit out of luck.”

No one says anything; Bobby just continues cleaning up the kitchen after supper.

Dean sighs. “You, uh.” He looks away for a moment, scratching the back of his head. “You mind if we crash here awhile, Bobby? Just until we come up with. With _something_.”

“Demeter indicated that since she assigned me the labors, if I hunted with the Winchesters they would be made apparent to me.” He looks over at Sam thoughtfully. “As though... The grace is only in the spirit of what we are doing. Doing it is what makes it manifest.”

Sam rubs at his chin thoughtfully. “You know, that does make sense.”

“Right, sure,” Dean says standing. He places his hands down flat on the table. Cas and Sam are welcome to discuss any weird metaphysical shit they want to, but he’s going to make damn sure they do it when he’s out of the room. “So!” he says loudly. “Bobby. Can we stay?”

“Of course you can, boy,” Bobby grunts. “Just don’t bother me and clean up after yourselves.” He stalks out of the room, a chorus of ‘thanks, Bobby’ following him out the door.

“You two can keep using your combined nerd power to figure this out, but I...” He yanks open the fridge and grabs another beer. He lifts it up and grins. “Have a date.”

* * *

“So, uh. Ben get those postcards I been sending him?”

Lisa laughs, warm and full. “He has them pinned up on a corkboard. I think he’s a little jealous - seeing all the places you’ve gotten to travel.”

“Oh believe me,” Dean snorts, “you’ve seen one rundown motel at the ass-end of nowhere you’ve seen them all.”

“You’ve been sending an awful lot lately. And calling a lot less.”

Something in Dean’s gut twists with guilt. “Yeah,” he replies, mouth dry. “I’m sorry, Lisa, we’ve been... busy and - “

“Hey, I don’t need excuses, Dean,” she says, and his gut twists again. “You said you had to go and I didn’t fight it; I wasn’t expecting to see you again for a long time, anyway.”

“Don’t.” He clears his throat. “Don’t say that, Lisa. I’ll be back. I promised.”

Lisa laughs. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Dean; you’ll just feel bad when you break them.”

The silence then lingers, and Dean isn’t quite sure what to say. He asks how she and Ben have been doing, how things are going with them, Ben’s school and Lisa’s work. It’s nice, if not entirely comfortable, and Dean feels a heavy pang. He misses them. He misses Lisa and Ben like hell and when this is all over...

When this is all over he’ll have a newly-human Cas and a brother back from hell. He’ll have to help them get things settled, then he’ll go back to the Braedens. Sam hasn’t said much about it and whatever whammy Cas put on him keeps the memories at bay, but Dean knows he hasn’t been sleeping well. Dean _knows_ , intimately, what it’s like to see hell every time you close your eyes. He knows what it’s like to have it haunt your dreams. So he can’t leave Sam. He can’t. And when he lets himself want it, he wants to stay with Cas, too.

There’s a part of him that knows Lisa is right, that knows that as soon Sam showed up his life with Lisa and Ben was over. He wants to be part of their family. He even wants, with a deep, soul-heavy want, to be a father - to be Ben’s father. But he can’t have both, can he?

“I miss you,” he tells Lisa, his voice husky.

Lisa makes a pleased noise. “I miss you, too,” she says, her voice pitched low and seductive. “So. What are you wearing?” She hums, putting on a show of desire. “I bet it’s flannel.”

Dean laughs and in anticipation, undoes the button of his jeans. He thinks of telling Lisa about the dreams with Cas. But they’re just dreams and it’s never even been real sex. He pictures her: the scent of her hair, soft body, pretty smile spreading across her face. He should tell her, he thinks - knows that anything that makes him feel this guilty can’t be right. But he doesn’t say anything. “Yeah,” he answers, “it’s flannel. And _denim_.” Lisa laughs and Dean can’t help his answering grin. “But you play your cards right and I could be wearing nothing.”

“Oh, I like the thought of that,” Lisa breathes. “And then could I get you all spread out on my bed? Me on top of you, holding your arms down, pushing slow until I feel you inside me.”

Dean groans, shoving a hand in his boxers to wrap around his cock. “Lisa,” he groans. “Jesus, Lisa, yes.”

* * *

They find a comfortable rhythm at Bobby’s, even if it is less than exciting. Cas tells Sam and Bobby that he’s slowly becoming human, probably permanently; Bobby just grunts and accepts it. Sam admits he’d suspected something like that. He and Cas have a long discussion about souls and grace and the connection between mind and body, and Dean doesn’t care about any of it, really, especially not theory and hypotheticals. 

They take Cas shopping and buy him a couple of pairs of jeans and two packs of plain white t-shirts. Sam and Dean don’t have much of a wardrobe between them, but they both donate a shirt or two they don’t want to Cas and even if he’s not going to be the most well-dressed guy around at least he doesn’t have to walk around in a fucking suit. 

A ghost pops up a few towns over and they take care of that. Then a wendigo, then a nest of vampires. Cas doesn’t get in the way; he’s actually an asset, and he’s as tough a bastard human as he ever was when he was angelic. Just minus the smitey super powers. Dean doesn’t ask about his wings - even though, Christ, he still thinks about them sometimes, the thick black feathers as dark and rich as twilight - but he catches Cas rotating his shoulders, or rubbing at his back. It’s just another thing to add to all that they’ve lost.

Even if they’re making no progress, Dean doesn’t feel like he’s stuck. They’re hunting, they’re doing _something_. It’s becoming familiar, and Bobby and Cas have formed a weird grumpy old man group, sharing their combined knowledge and poring over some of the old junk Bobby’s collected over the years. So no one’s really expecting it when the first labor falls quite literally into their laps.

Cas folds his arms over his chest and tilts his head. “Dean,” he says, frowning. His legs spread wider and he sinks down further on the couch. Even in a pose of such ease, though, Cas still manages to look stiff. “That behavior’s incredibly inappropriate for a hospital.”

Dean grins, watching the two doctors on the screen make-out in the room of a coma patient. “It’s her last night there, dude. Before she goes to... Ecuador or wherever.”

“So they are celebrating.” Cas raises a dubious eyebrow as they leave the patient’s room and head to the male doctor’s office. The door shuts and the camera pans to the floor, where clothes are hastily being thrown. “With fornication.”

Dean’s grin widens. “Hell of a way to celebrate, I say. Look at her. Doctor’s smoking.”

The door bursts open, though, and Doctor Sexy stands there, looking aghast. The other doctors cover themselves up, babbling as they try to explain. Dean scoots a little closer, his attention sharpening.

Cas makes a noise. Dean doesn’t know what it means, but he can hear the condescension. “I don’t think she’s the one you are interested in.”

Dean scowls. He gets it enough from Sam, damn it, he doesn’t need Cas to start, too. He does not, he will vehemently argue, have a crust on Doctor Sexy. Not even a little. “Shut up, Cas.”

“I am not judging you,” Cas says, shrugging. “The actors are all incredibly good-looking - I suspect as a ploy to increase viewership.” He studies the screen for a long moment, his mouth pursed thoughtfully. “You are right, though. Dr. Cavanaugh is... exceptionally pretty.”

He shifts then, in what Dean thinks, doing practically a double-take, might actually be _interest_. “Cas,” he says, because if the dude’s figured out what his dick is for this might be actual cause for celebration, “are you saying you think this chick’s hot?”

“I could always see beauty in the human form,” Cas allows, “even as an angel. It is just... Now my body responds in that in ways in did not do previously. With my brothers, I was always connected. It was not intimate in the way sex is because it was not physical, but it’s comparable.” When he continues, his voice is quite. “I miss that. Angels are not meant to be individual creatures and while I don’t regret breaking away I do miss the communion. I have... wondered.” He looks down, and Dean sees color bloom in his cheeks. It’s a far cry from that brothel in Maine.

“Um.” Dean clears his throat. “You could... I mean, the next time we’re out at a bar or something. If you see somebody you like.”

Cas stares and Dean feels drawn, compelled to meet his eyes. “Maybe,” Cas says, and Dean wonders who he’d go for, if Cas has a type. Maybe the dreams mean more than Dean thought they did. Maybe Cas wants a partner because he already knows pleasure alone, his hand wrapped around his dick, his head thrown back, sweat pooling at his clavicle as he jerks himself to completion. Dean feels a little light-headed suddenly and have Cas’s eyes always been that dark, that piercing blue? Cas swallows and Dean reflexively mirrors the action. “But for now I think I’ll keep my interest purely academic.” 

The rest of the episode is much more tense, and neither tries to start another conversation. As the credits roll Dean debates staying to watch the next episode in the marathon. He’s pulled away, however, by Bobby. 

“Hey,” Bobby says gruffly, poking his head into the living room. “We found something. Might have to do with Feathers and his grace.” Dean and Cas exchange a quick look and then follow Bobby out into the yard. Sam’s squatting down, cooing baby talk to a fluffball standing in front of him. “It’s a cat.”

Dean grunts. “Thanks for the info, Bobby,” he says. He points to the kitten and looks at Cas. “You getting anything from it? We’re not going to have to slay it are we?”

“I don’t know,” Cas says. “I can’t sense anything.” Sam gives him a look and then stands and backs away.

Cas walks up to the kitten and then bends down, sitting on his heels with his weight on the balls of his feet. “Are you the Nemean lion?” he asks, the expression on his face resolute and completely devoid of humor. Dean tries not to comment on how ridiculous talking to a cat is. The kitten meows sweetly, toddling up to Cas and rubbing its big head against one of his hands. Cas scratches the back of its neck and the kitten starts wriggling, moving closer to Cas until it bumps into his knee. He scratches harder, moving down its back. The kitten stands to its back legs and paws at him. “Oh.”

“What is it?” Dean asks, squatting down beside him. The kitten looks at him and hisses.

Cas unclips the kitten's collar. The little monster scampers away and Cas stands up, examining the collar's small silver bell.

Dean laughs. “You know what they say,” he jokes, listening to the bell's tinkle. “Every time a bell rings...”

The bell disintegrates in Cas's hand, leaving behind a small white feather. He glares at Dean. “I already have my wings,” he says. He opens his mouth wide and the feather floats up in a golden cloud. His lips glow in the haze, and the feather disappears on the tip of his tongue.

Sam scoops the kitten up, rubbing its ears. Bobby scowls. “I’m not letting you keep it,” he says, sending Sam a sharp glare. The kitten starts purring, almost in response, and Sam’s entire face lights up.

They wind up naming him Hercules.

* * *

The next labor turns out to be as easy as the first. After the success of the Nemean kitten - as Sam calls him - they decide to start hunting with more fervor. They’re investigating a haunting in Colorado when they find the analogue to the Lernean hydra.

Dean’s watching the bones burn with a satisfied look when Sam bumps his shoulder. “Hey,” he says, pointing. “Look over there.”

“What?” Dean follows the direction of Sam’s arm to see a huge, gnarled tree. It’s thick, the bark blackened and knobby. It has no leaves, and nine heavy boughs curling up towards the sky. They start low on the trunk, making the tree look like a short, stubby man with nine arms raised towards the sky. Or maybe a tree-octopus, Dean thinks. “Oh. That.”

“There are nine,” Cas says intently, walking over to Sam’s side. He studies the tree for a long moment, frowning as his eyes trace it from trunk to tip. “We’ll need an axe.”

The Impala is nothing if not prepared, and among the cache of weapons and over necessities Dean keeps in the trunk is a large axe. Cas grips the wooden handle tight, looking at the tree as though it has personally wronged him. Sam clears his throat. “You, uh. Want some help, man?”

“I don’t think so,” Cas says, and of course, he’s just going to chop down an entire fucking tree by himself. Dean rolls his eyes, and Cas’s gaze snaps to him. “Besides,” he says, tone clipped, “this is the only axe you have.”

Sam and Dean watch him as walks over, the axe slung over his shoulder. Dean pokes Sam. “Hey, didn’t the hydra’s heads grow back? You think this tree’s going to regrow whatever Cas chops off?”

“I don’t know,” Sam says, shrugging. “Only one of the heads was immortal. Maybe all Cas has to do is chop off the right bough.”

Dean turns out to be right. Cas chops down the bough closest to him; as soon as it falls the entire tree starts shaking, a weird, gooey looking mold growing over the stump. It starts bubbling up into two bulbous growths, and then two branches burst out, covered in thick, amber sap. They grow quickly, and in a few seconds they’re as thick as their parent bough had been. 

Dean and Sam exchange worried looks, and Cas reassess the tree, standing beside it, his axe on the ground, sap in his hair. He changes tactics and starts chopping the three at the base.

It takes longer, and even though Dean and Sam offer to do something, Cas still refuses their help. Sam reminds him that even Hercules had someone to assist him with the hydra, but Cas seems hellbent on doing it on his own. Once the trunk is cut halfway through, Cas throws the axe to the ground. He squares his shoulders and steps up to the tree. Dean’s not sure what he expected to happen, but it sure as fuck wasn’t for Cas to place both palms against the tree and start _pushing_.

“Cas,” he barks, “what the hell are you doing? You can’t push over a goddamn tree.”

“A human can’t,” Cas answers back. He sounds strained, and Dean stares, the effort it’s taking him to push obviously taxing. “But I am not fully human yet.” He grunts and gives one last shove, putting his shoulder against the tree and throwing his whole body into it. The tree moves, finally. Cas keeps pushing and Dean hears the sound of wood breaking as the heavy trunk separates. And then, with a great crash, the tree falls, smashing the fence surrounding the graveyard they’re in.

“Holy shit,” Sam says, taken aback. He blinks a couple of times. “Cas just pushed down a tree.”

“Yep.” Dean huffs. He starts walking over to Cas. “He just pushed down a tree.”

There’s sap and dirt all over Cas, but he’s not even breathing hard from the exertion. He just frowns, looking at the mess on his t-shirt. He wipes his hands on his jeans.

“You did it,” Dean says, clapping him on the back. “Damn, Cas, you actually did it.”

“Yes,” Cas replies succinctly. He bends over the stump; there’s new growth there already. A single, green leaf. Cas plucks it from the stump and starts rubbing it between his fingers. The skin peels away, until there’s another glowing feather in Castiel’s hand. 

Dean grins, throwing one arm around Cas and one around Sam. “All right,” he says, “eat up. And then let’s get the hell out of here before someone notices we ruined their fence.”

* * *

Bobby finds their next hunt through an old friend of his. “There's been a string of deaths over in a small town in Minnesota,” he says. “They've all been trampled.”

“Trampled?” Dean says. “By what?”

Bobby pulls up the article his buddy had sent him and beckons Dean over the the computer. “By deer from the look of it,” he says, tapping the screen with a knuckle. “You boys want to head over and check it out?”

“Yes,” Cas says quickly, before either Dean or Sam could answer. He leans in close to the computer screen, looking over Bobby's shoulder. He's so close his chin is nearly touching Bobby, and gets shoved unceremoniously away.

“Thought Dean talked to you about personal space,” Bobby grunts.

“I apologize,” Cas says absently, still studying the computer. It's the first lead they've had in a week. “I think we should leave as soon as possible.”

“Fine with me,” Sam says. He looks at Dean and shrugs. “What about you?”

“I'm up for it,” Dean says. “Not like we have anything else to go on.”

They eat quickly and then leave. The town they're headed to has a population of about five thousand people, and hosts a small blueberry festival every year. The hunter that sent the info their way isn't sure what is causing the deaths, but he's certain it isn't average deer. He'd go himself, he'd told Bobby, but he's out in Arizona and he knows Bobby's been on the look-out for any hunts reasonably nearby.

“I bet this town has good pie,” Dean says as they pull into a little hotel. He's hoping that they can wrap things up quick, but it never hurts to have a base of operations and a few beds in case they need them.

“Why would this town's pie be better than any other?” Cas asks. They climb out of the car and grab their bags.

“They have a blueberry festival, Cas,” Dean explains. “So they've had a lot of practice.”

They check into the hotel; just one room, to save money. Dean loses paper-rock-scissors and winds up with the floor.

“Okay,” Sam says, pulling out his laptop and shifting into business mode. “The victims have all been men. Different races, but all around the same age – between twenty-three and thirty-two. And all single.”

“So what are you thinking?” Dean asks.

Sam types something, his fingers moving rapidly over the keys. “It looks... pretty straight-forward, actually,” he says. He waves Dean and Cas over. “Look. Deer woman. Said to have the body of a woman, but with hooves instead of feet. Lures men off and tramples them.” Sam grins. “Perfect fit.”

“Great,” Dean says. “You think we should talk to the victims' families? Or you want to go try to find her and gank her?”

“We shouldn't intrude on the families' grief if we don't have to,” Cas says. “I believe you are correct and that this is the work of Deer Woman; it says they were all found near the same jogging trail, so I think we should start there.”

“Awesome. It tell us how to kill her?” Dean asks, looking over Sam's shoulder at the screen.

Sam nods. “Yeah.”

“Then let's go.”

Cas still can't sense his grace, but when they get to the area of forest they want a few miles outside town, he says something is pulling him. “She's nearby,” he says. “And I think she has my grace.”

There's a rustle close by, barely audible, and Dean just writes it off as ambient forest noise. But Cas perks up immediately, stopping dead and listening carefully. “Cas, what are you - “

But before Dean can even finish his sentence Cas is bolting off, through thick clumps of trees.

“Damn it,” Dean curses. “Come on, Sam, we have to follow him.” The Winchesters run after him, following the sound of his boots and the trail he leaves in his wake. Dean's starting to get winded when finally they catch sight of Cas. He's standing in front of a young woman, her back against the trunk of a tree. She has dark skin and long hair in a glossy black curtain that falls over her shoulders. Her eyes are brown, but something about them isn't right, doesn't look quite human. She looks over and sees Dean and Sam and cries out, calling them to help her, to stop Cas before he hurts her.

Dean frowns, about to ask Cas what he's doing to the poor girl, when Cas's voice stops him, sharp as a snapped twig under his boot.

“Dean. Sam,” Cas says. “Look at her feet.”

They both look down at the same time, and that breaks whatever whammy she’d put on them. The skirt of her dress is long, an orange and tan leafy print, but it doesn’t come quite to the ground. Where her shoes or feet should be, there are hooves. “Huh,” Dean says. “Guess you found her.”

“Wait!” she says quickly, holding out a hand. “You’re... you’re hunters, aren’t you?”

Dean and Sam have closed in, and they stand next to Cas, surrounding her with her back against the tree. They nod, and she looks between all three, the deep, brown deers’ eyes wet with fear. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt those men,” she says. “But one was hunting me, and the others were dicks. It’s normally easy for me to...” She looks away guiltily. “For me to lure men, but I don’t... I don’t want to kill them!” She wraps her arms around herself. “I don’t like killing anything; but I had to defend myself. Normally it’s easy for me, like I said, the men are easily entranced. But recently?” She puts a hand up to her neck, where a thin silver chain hangs down. “Something changed. It’s been hard to keep men away.” She grabs the necklace in her fist and looks up at the Winchesters fiercely. “You can’t blame me for that. You can’t blame me for keeping those bastards away from me.”

Dean’s about to tell her to shove it, that even though he understands why she did it, she still killed those men, but Cas puts an arm on his shoulder. “Dean,” he says quietly. “The golden hind was sacred to Artemis. It had to be captured alive.”

“We don’t condone what you did,” Sam said, “but.” He looks at the young woman, his eyes sympathetic. “We can understand.”

“But you should not do it again,” Cas says. “Or you’ll attract more attention to yourself.”

The girl smiles at him, her mouth quirked up in a gentle curve. “I have something that belongs to you, don’t I?” She pulls her necklace out from where it hangs between her breasts. It’s a silver antler, delicately wrought, with wire wrapped around two points to hang it from the chain. She unclips the chain and lets it pool in her palm, then hands it out to Cas. “Here,” she says. “I know you need it.” But when Cas reaches to grab it she pulls her hand away. “There’s a cost, though.”

Dean growls. “I think letting you get away with murder is enough, don’t you?”

She ignores him. Cas looks hesitant, but he licks his lips and asks “What is the cost?”

Her smile is bright and her eyes burn into Cas. “Come. Dance with me.”

She bolts off then, so suddenly that Dean and Sam realize she probably could have gotten away from them at any time. Her body shifts as she runs, shrinking down, her arms touching the ground and thickening into legs. They can hardly see her after a moment, she runs so fast.

Cas looks at Dean. “Excuse me,” he says, and then he runs off after her, nearly as quick as she had been.

“What the fuck,” Dean says, mostly to himself. He looks at Sam. “You think he’ll come back, or... ?”

Sam shrugs. “We should probably go after him.”

“Yeah.” Dean nods. “Yeah, let’s go.”

It takes them at least fifteen minutes to find him, and Dean’s getting really irritable from an afternoon spent tromping around the woods. “Cas,” he calls. “Cas, where the hell are you?”

“Don’t worry,” Sam says. “He knows where the hotel is. If we can’t find him, we can just go back and wait for him there. He’ll come back.”

“Sure,” Dean says. He takes particular pleasure in crushing a small fern under his boot. “If he’s not dead.”

Sam huffs. “She wasn’t going to kill him, Dean. She just wanted to dance.”

“Right. Because that’s normal.”

“God, Dean, you really worry too much. Cas can take care of himself.”

“Hey,” Dean says, poking his brother hard in the chest, “I have reason to worry. And I’m not saying he can’t take care of himself, I’m just saying that when he’s only at half-mast, nearly out of mojo and practically human, letting him run off with something that’s already killed four guys is not really a great fucking idea.”

Sam just rolls his eyes and ignores his brother. “Cas,” he calls, his hand cupped at his mouth like the horn of a loudspeaker. “Castiel!”

“Over here, Sam,” a voice answers back. Sam and Dean exchange glances and start jogging towards the voice.

They stumble into a clearing, thick with grass and lush, verdant plants. As soon as they break out of the trees, though, a deer - _the_ deer, Dean thinks - who’d been standing beside Cas bolts off. Cas watches it go, looking remarkably placid for someone who’d gotten a piece of his grace back and danced with a supernatural creature.

He was also naked. Dean can’t really wrap his mind around that, because there’s Cas, standing in the middle of a forest. _Naked_.

“Dude, where are your clothes?” Sam asks.

Cas bends down and picks up the pile folded at his feet. “I’ll get dressed,” he says. “And then perhaps we can eat?”

“Sure,” Dean says, turning around to give Cas some privacy. Sam gives him a look Dean can’t quite read, and he really doesn’t feel like trying to decipher it. “Whatever you want, man. Just put on your fucking clothes.”

* * *

The third labor ended up being pretty literal - Hercules captured a deer, Cas did some kind of naked samba with a shapeshifting deer lady - but the fourth was analogous in name only.

“ _The Boar_ ,” Dean says, reading the name of the bar they’re standing in front of. “Think it means anything?”

Cas is staring at the sign prohibiting anyone under twenty-one from entering the premises. “I don’t think it would behoove us to write this off as coincidence.”

They hadn’t even been looking for the next labor; it had just turned up while they were on another hunt. Cas was right, though; _The Boar_ fit too well for it to be anything other than significant. And it has alcohol, which Dean doesn’t see as anything but a plus. 

“Great,” he says, rubbing his hands together. He grins, first at Sam, then at Cas. “Let’s go get us some grace.”

They step into the bar. It’s old but obviously well-cared for, the kind of place with regulars and a familiar atmosphere. There are booths on the walls, and a few round, wooden tables littering the floor. There’s a dartboard, and two pool tables in the back. A few patrons are milling about, but it’s not busy yet, still a little too early to draw a big crowd.

Dean sits down at the bar and waves the bartender over. He’s an older man, wearing a green cap and a flannel shirt. His face is scarred and the lower half is covered by a matted gray beard. A framed newspaper article on the wall behind him names him Kai Maddox, the proprietor. He’s exactly the kind of man Dean would expect to run a bar like this one, and he grins despite himself. “Hey,” he says. “you got any food?”

The man grunts and points to an old menu stuck to the wall behind the bar. “Yeah. That.”

Dean reads over what they’ve got. “You guys want anything?” he asks Sam and Cas; they’re sitting on either side of him at the bar.

Sam shakes his head but Cas looks at the menu with interest. “Fried mushrooms,” he says. “The menu says they are famous.”

Dean rolls his eyes but asks for an order of the mushrooms for Cas and some of the gravy fries for himself. They all ask for beer.

“This is... odd,” Cas says, putting his palms against the bar. He stares at the space between his fingers, pressing down hard. 

“Uh. What’s odd?”

“My grace,” Cas explains. “I can... sense it. But not in any specific location. It’s as though I’m in it; like it’s around me.” He looks around the bar, examining the ceiling, then the floor. Then he looks back at Dean. He taps on the bar. “I think the bar is my grace.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asks. He looks around the bar, too, but doesn’t seem to notice the presence of something supernatural like Cas does.

“Yeah,” Dean repeats around a mouthful of fry. A few drops of gravy dribble onto his chin. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“My grace has seeped in here,” Cas says. “But it won’t be difficult to remove. I think if I sit here, at the bar, the grace will migrate back into me. Or at least coalesce into a manageable form.”

“So we wait,” Dean says. He sucks gravy from his finger, then balls up his napkin and drops it in his empty basket. Cas still has some mushrooms left; he can probably grab one or two of those.

Cas nods. “We sit here and be patient.”

“So we just have to... sit here,” Sam repeats, looking at Cas, distinctly unimpressed.

Cas just nods again. “Yes,” he says. “Since my grace has seeped into this place, destroying it would only destroy my grace or disperse it further.”

Sam's eyebrows raise. “I, uh. Wasn't really suggesting destruction as a second option, Cas.”

“Oh.” Castiel frowns. “Then yes, Sam. Our only choice is to sit here.”

Sam puts his chin in his hand, looking like somebody pissed in his beer. “Great,” he says. “A real evening to remember.”

Despite Sam’s complaints, it really isn’t bad. They all drink enough to loosen up, and then Cas nearly doubles that. More people come in as the evening wears on, and the quiet grows into an amiable din. Sam starts chatting with some motorcycle chick who’d come in with two of her friends, and they have a friendly game of pool while Dean and Cas stay at the bar. They’d decided against hustling, just in case; they couldn’t afford to make someone angry and get kicked out before Cas had a chance to get his grace back.

“Hey,” Sam says in a whisper, leaning in close to Dean. “I’m going to... go. Paula and her friends invited me out with them and I think I’m going to accept the invitation. Meet you back at the hotel, later?”

“All right Sammy,” Dean says, giving his brother a lascivious grin and holding out his hand for a celebratory five. Reluctantly, Sam gives it. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I won’t wait up.”

“Bye, Dean,” Sam says, his eyes narrowed. Dean just laughs.

Cas, who hasn’t said anything in at least five or ten minutes, suddenly taps him on the shoulder. “Dean,” he says, “look.” His eyes are wild and there’s a flush riding high in his cheeks. “These stools spin.” He pushes himself off the bar, hard, spinning around in a jerky circle. Then he promptly loses his balance and topples to the floor.

“Cas! Shit,” Dean says, getting up and wrapping an arm around Cas’s shoulders. “You okay, man?”

“Fine,” Cas mumbles. He grabs Dean’s shirt and gets carefully to his feet. Once upright, he starts, his eyes going wide and his head weaving like the room’s started spinning. “I think I’m no longer ambulatory.”

“Christ, Cas,” Dean says, putting him back on his seat, “how much did you drink?”

Apparently his inhuman ability to hold his liquor hadn’t followed him into being human, and he’d gotten himself soundly drunk.

“Less than a liquor store this time,” he rumbles, laying his head on the bar. He closes his eyes and rubs the bar in big circles with the flats of his hands. “I think I’m intoxicated.”

“No shit, sherlock,” Dean says. 

Cas just sighs. “I didn’t feel anything, so I just kept drinking. I’m coming to believe this might have been a mistake.”

“It’s ‘cause you were doing shots, too, dumbass. Takes a second, but then it hits you all at once.”

“Oh. I see.” He sits up again and looks up at one of the bronze lamps hanging on a thick chain from the ceiling. “I think I should do more shots.”

Dean snorts. “Hell no,” he says. “You’re getting cut off. Water you can have - you’re going to have - but no more alcohol for you.”

“Where’s Sam?” Cas asks, his mouth turned down and his bottom lip stuck out in something Dean would almost categorize as a pout. “He would be sympathetic.”

“He left,” Dean says. He takes a sip of his beer, feeling smug as Cas glares. “Met some woman and went off with her and some of her friends just a minute ago.” He leans in conspiratorially and waggles his eyebrows in a manner that he thinks even Cas will pick up on as suggestive. “Said not to wait up.”

“Ahh,” Cas says, nodding. He looks a little hazy, his eyes half-lidded. “He’s going to sex... with her. That’s good. I hope it’s enjoyable for him.”

Dean laughs, because Cas is even more awkward drunk than he is when he’s sober. “I’m sure it will be, buddy.”

“Sex,” Cas says after a couple of seconds, apparently still thinking about Sam getting lucky. He looks around the bar; there are a lot of people now, and his eyes linger over one or two as he surveys the room. “That would be... interesting.”

Dean’s taken aback, his beer halfway to his mouth. He’s vividly reminded of the conversation they had over an episode of Doctor Sexy; how Cas had been curious, how he’d missed the sense of connection with his brothers, how he’d wanted to connect with someone now that he was becoming human. Connect intimately. Physically. Dean’s throat closes up and he thinks that even though it’s just sex, Cas going home with someone at a bar is a hell of a lot different than just paying somebody to give him a nice time.

“Are you saying you want to pick somebody up? You see somebody here you want to fuck?”

“Maybe,” Cas says. “I don’t know.” He gestures to a woman sitting in the back of the bar. She’s pretty, her hair braided into a long, thick tail that hangs down her back. “Do you see that woman? She has a cat named Mavis.” He smacks his lips together. “And she has a very bright soul.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty, I guess,” Dean allows. 

“Yes,” Cas replies, sounding dreamy. His fingers drum a rhythm on his knee, but he doesn’t seem to have noticed. “Pretty.”

“You like brunettes, then?” Dean’s not sure why it’s important to get an accurate picture of Castiel’s tastes, but it seems suddenly vital.

Cas shrugs. “Not preferentially,” he says. “I like them as much as I like hair of any color.”

“Well, is there anything you are preferential about?”

Cas giggles, then his hand shoots to his mouth and his eyes go wide, like he can’t quite believe that sound came out of him. “Ignore that,” he says. He looks at the ceiling and raises one arm up. He spreads his fingers out, then curls all but his index finger to a fist. “Eyes that are nice.” Another finger goes up. “Brains.” He pops his ring finger up, but the pinkie comes with it. “Shapely breasts. Also big hands.” He sticks his thumb out. It wiggles a little and Castiel smiles. “Determination or. Attitude. I think the word you would use is badass.” 

His arm falls and he sits up, looking at Dean intently, like he’s imparting some closely guarded secret. “And there is... One thing,” he says. He lowers his voice down to a whisper. “That I find arousing. More than I should.” He shakes his head. “You’ll be angry with me.”

Dean shifts closer. “No, dude, I won’t. Tell me.”

“Okay.” Cas claps a hand on his shoulder and squeezes. 

Dean frowns at him. “Shoulders?” he asks. It’s not the weirdest fetish he’s ever heard of, but personally he doesn’t really get the appeal. “You like shoulders?”

“Not the shoulder,” Castiel says. He presses his lips together hard. “What I left there.” He lifts up Dean’s shirtsleeve and his fingertips touch the handprint. It makes Dean tingle, all over his body, and from the way Cas’s eyes go heavy it’s doing something for him, too.

“What the fuck,” Dean says, jerking away. “You can’t just... Goddamnit, Cas, you can’t just say shit like that.”

“I did that,” Cas says, still staring at Dean’s shoulder and apparently perfect content to ignore all Dean’s admonishments. “I raised you up. I saved you. I remade you.” Cas’s voice has gone deep, dark, and a little smitey, and Dean wonders what he’s thinking. “I think I may be a possessive partner.”

And just like that he snaps out of it. He turns back to the bar, resting his arms on the flat, wooden top. Dean’s left feeling a little shell-shocked and wondering if it’s only the handprint Cas finds so arousing, or maybe the person it’s on, too.

“I don’t think I’ll go talk to that woman,” Cas says. “I’m feeling drowsy. Oh!” He looks up at Dean, a pleased expression on his face. “And we can go.” He leans down until the tip of his nose touches the bar. “All my grace has returned to me now.”

“Great.” Dean stands up, then helps Castiel off his barstool. “We’re going back to the hotel to wait for Sam, okay? You’re going to have the mother of all hangovers in the morning.”

Cas just hums and follows him to the Impala.

* * *

“Look,” Bobby says, and Dean can hear in his tone that he's going to try to be nice about something he's pissed as hell about. “Not that I don't like having you boys here, and you know you're as close to family as I've got, but if I don't get away from the lot of you someone's going to end up shot in the face.”

Bobby has a valid point. They've had no luck finding any more of Cas's grace, and it's been awhile since they've even been on a hunt. Ever since the night at _The Boar_ Cas has been evasive and Dean's been wound up – he knows Sam can tell, but he sure as hell isn't going to talk about it and Sam hasn't been dumb enough to ask. He'd suggested they all go back to Bobby's, try to blow off some steam, but being cooped up there has just made everyone stir-crazy.

Bobby pulls the strap of a back over his shoulder. “So I'm going on a hunt. Routine haunting, nothing I can't handle. You're welcome to stay; I'll be back in a few days.”

“I'm coming with you,” Sam says, shooting up out of his seat. And Bobby's expression, he amends his demand with a quiet “Please.”

“I told you, boy, I can handle this on my own.”

“Bobby,” Sam says. His eyes widen, and he gives Bobby a significant look, glancing once to Dean and then back again. “ _Bobby_.”

Bobby sighs. “Yeah, all right, you got a point there. You can come.”

“Hey.” Dean looks at his surrogate father indignantly. “And what the hell am I supposed to do while you two are gone?”

“Try learning not to be an asshole,” Bobby suggests. “And you can clean out your car. Fix her up. You said you've been meaning to do it for awhile anyway.”

Dean sighs, but doesn't protest further.

“Bye!” Sam says, waving cheerfully. “We'll see you in a few days. Don't forget to feed Hercules.” And then they're gone, leaving Dean and Cas alone.

“Guess Bobby has a point,” Dean says, looking away from Cas. “Baby could use some TLC.”

“I could help you,” Cas offers. “If you need it.”

“Uh. Sure,” Dean says, though almost immediately he regrets. “Bobby's right. Got a lot of shit that's wound up in the trunk. Might as well clean it out.”

They'd already pulled the guns out for maintenance when they'd gotten there, but there's the axe Cas used on the tree, some wooden stakes, a few cassettes Dean doesn't listen to much, books, and a bag of extra clothes.

Dean pulls out a bag from some fast food place and shoves it at Cas in disgust. “Fucking Sam,” he mutters. “Promised me he'd get that out at the next gas station.”

“It appears he forgot.”

“Thanks for the update, Cas.”

Cas doesn't respond, just grabs something else from the trunk.

They don't talk much; it's not dirty, and most of the stuff that's accumulated isn't junk – it's just a matter of deciding what they need and what they can leave behind. They've been at Bobby's so much recently it's come to feel more and more like home. Dean's got something like a home, he thinks, back with Ben and Lisa, but Bobby's place has come to feel like home, too. Leaving a few things there might cement that. They'd at least have to come back if they wanted to get them.

“Dean.” Cas frowns and Dean looks over at him, wondering what had given him pause. “Look at this.” Cas fishes out a wad of white tissue paper from the trunk. It's not something Dean recognizes. Cas unfolds it and there, laying soft and sheltered, is a small white feather.

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Is that... ?”

“Yes,” Cas breathes. He cradles it in both hands, holding it up between them. The feather starts to levitate, giving off a familiar glow. It's bright and golden, barely visible motes of celestial light twinkling like glitter in the air. Cas's eyes lock with Dean's and his mouth opens. Dean can't look away, and something clenches in his chest, releasing a flood of heat the makes his skin prickle. The feather floats up to Castiel's mouth, and his lips close around it. His tongue licks a circle around his mouth and the feather blinks out of existence, apparently re-assimilated into Cas.

The moment hangs between them. They should probably keep cleaning, Dean thinks. Or Cas should go inside for a nap, since he's probably feeling a little worn from ingesting the grace. Yes, he thinks, Cas should go inside. It's a one man job, anyway, and he can do it alone. Working on his baby has always been his thing, his alone, and even if Cas wants to help he doesn't really _need_ to. The shirts they'd picked up for him are really thin; Dean can see his nipples. And not because he's looking – because Jesus, he tells himself, he's not looking – because they are quite clearly visible. The v-neck of the shirt dips down too far, too, Dean notices, and he has the sudden urge to push Cas away. He ignores it.

“I suppose that was the Augean Stables,” Cas says. Dean hopes that's the first thing he's said, because he wasn't really paying attention. “Not to suggest, of course, that your car – your baby – was in any way as filthy.”

“No, I uh.” Dean clears his throat. “I know.”

Cas stares at him. “Good.”

Sam and Bobby, Dean thinks, need to get back right the fuck _now_.

* * *

Dean spends the rest of the day fixing up his car, while Cas is doing whoever-the-fuck-knows-what inside the house. Probably thinking up ways to make him feel even _more_ awkward, Dean thinks, which he realizes is petty, but after the Augean Impala incident things are about twenty times worse than they were. It's a probably a good thing Sam and Bobby left when they did, because Dean's pretty sure that Bobby was only half-kidding about shooting somebody.

They eat supper separately, and even though he hears him moving around the house, Dean doesn't see Cas until the next morning. He gets up at about nine, ambling into the kitchen to get coffee and some breakfast. Cas is already there, sitting at the table with the remains of what looks like an omelette on the plate in front of him. He looks up and sees Dean, and says “I made coffee if you want some.”

“Thanks,” Dean grunts. He pours himself a coffee, then takes a seat at the table. “You got some more eggs cooked somewhere?”

Cas gives him a dismissive look. “Make your own.”

Dean just drinks his coffee. It takes him a few seconds to realize that Cas is staring at him expectantly, but he feels the weight of the gaze and looks up. “What?” he asks.

“I think I've found something.” Cas unfolds some papers sitting on the table and passes them to Dean. It's an internet article about some town with a recent infestation of ravens. While it's pretty weird, Dean will admit, he's not sure what's so supernatural about it.

“So what?” he asks. He finishes his coffee. He's hungry; maybe Bobby has the stuff to make french toast.

Cas sighs, sounding like he's so put-upon, having to deal with a being so much less insightful than himself. Dean scowls and thinks about punching him. “Ravens, Dean.” It still doesn't click. “Birds? One of Hercules's labors was the flesh-eating Stymphalian birds?”

“Oh.” And yeah, okay, Dean can admit he was a little slow on the uptake for that one. “Right.” He nods. “So what, then? You want to go check it out?”

“I know we should wait for Sam and Bobby,” Cas continues, “But. If you're amenable, I'd like to go now. We don't know when they'll return and while I don't believe there's any sort of time limit set up, I think sooner would be better than later.”

Dean thinks it over for a minute. “Okay,” he says. “We can go.” It would probably be a good idea to teach Cas how to drive, he muses; maybe then he can take care of stuff like this on his own.

It's a long drive, all the way to the east coast, so as soon as Dean eats something they leave. They drop the kitten off with Jody Mills while they're gone, and then call Sam and Bobby to tell them they went out on a hunt while they were gone.

To stave off any potential awkwardness – because despite Dean's staunch position in favor of ignoring everything, things are still tense – Dean decides to give Cas a crash course in music. Their tastes line up almost perfectly, which Dean is ecstatic about and plans to rub in Sam's face the first chance he gets. His excitement is somewhat lessened, however, when he realizes that Castiel likes almost everything. They wind up playing Bob Dylan for most of the trip, and it doesn't take long before Cas knows the songs well enough to sing along.

They stop somewhere to sleep a couple hours after it gets dark. Dean needs to sleep and he's not letting Cas take the wheel until he passes a battery of tests Dean devises himself. The guy at the check-in desk doesn't pay much attention as they check in, focused instead on the game he's playing on his laptop. He gives them the key to their room and they head to bed.

That night, Dean dreams.

Cas is a tiger again, bigger this time than he's ever been before. Dean sits astride his back, holding fistfuls of the thick fur. Cas starts running. He goes so fast the scenery starts to blend together, and Dean doesn't know where they are, or where they're going. He leans down close, bent over Cas's shoulders, and feels it in his whole body when Castiel growls _Dean_.

They leap up into the sky, and the clouds part for them as Cas runs further and further away from the ground. Dean's lungs tighten in the thin air, and he breathes close to Cas's skin, feeling the fur ghost across his lips every time he inhales.

The stars sing; Dean can't understand the song, but he can feel it, the music working its way down into his bones. Cas opens his mouth and starts to sing, too. Flames lick at them but it doesn't burn; the pain of hearing the song, of hearing something so alien to human ears, is excruciating, but the pain is _good_ , it's _real_ , and even if he's ashamed of it Dean feels like crying. He pulls hard at Castiel's fur, so hard he's surprised it doesn't come off in his hands, and the star-song starts to melt into something closer to pleasure. Dean screams, long and loud, and waits, waits, waits for the wave to crest over him, for the spiral of heat curling up from his core to burst out, but it never happens. Castiel growls so loudly Dean thinks it might shatter the heavens, and all the stars blink out as one, and then Dean starts to fall, down into the endless darkness of space.

And then he wakes up.

He groans, feeling so frustrated he wants to shoot something. He looks over, but Cas isn't in the next bed. The light in the bathroom's on, though, the door open a crack. Dean breathes and falls back onto his pillow, feeling relieved. He can just go back to sleep. He can go back to sleep, and not dream, and forget all about fucking Castiel and his stupid fucking tiger body.

Until he hears a choked-off moan come from the bathroom. The sound's one of pleasure, and suddenly Dean realizes what Cas is doing, what he's doing to himself, and thinks that maybe Cas was just as affected by the dream as he was. He squeezes his eyes shut, though, and turns over, pressing his erection into the mattress. When Cas leaves the bathroom he pretends to be asleep. 

The next morning, they get up and neither mentions the dream. They get ready, check-out, and then get back on the road. It's a peaceful few hours of driving, if silent besides the music they always have playing.

It's pretty obvious when they arrive, because a flurry of ravens come to meet them. As far as they can see, when they pull into town, are ravens. On every building, on every traffic light, there are ravens.

“A conspiracy of ravens,” Cas says, looking thoughtfully out the window.

“What do you mean?” Dean asks, glancing over to Cas. He frowns, wondering how the hell the birds could be up to anything. “A conspiracy? What are they planning, to shit on everyone's cars?”

“ _No_ ,” Cas says, impatiently, in a voice indicative of long suffering. “A conspiracy of ravens. Like a murder of crows. Or a flock of sheep.”

“Oh. It's just what you call a group of them.” Dean nods, and pulls into the parking lot of a small restaurant. “This place okay?” he asks. Cas nods. “Figured we could get some food, then do some investigating or something.” He gets out and shuts the car door. “Not sure what we're supposed to investigate, though, since other than the ravens there doesn't seem to be much here.”

Cas holds the door to the restaurant, Carlisle's, open and Dean walks in. “The ravens in and of themselves are suspicious,” Cas says, following. A young, pretty hostess leads them to a booth and they take a seat. “We only need to figure out why they're here.”

“Hi,” the waitress says, “I'm Jennie and I'll be taking care of you boys today.”

Dean gives her his brightest smile. “Hi there, Jennie.” He gestures out the window. “What's up with all these damn birds?” he asks. “Nearly hit a whole group of them on the drive here.”

Jennie just shrugs. “No idea. They've been here for about a week. They don't cause any trouble, though, they're just... there.” She gives him an apologetic smile. “Now, what can I get you to drink?”

They give her their order and she walks off. Dean flips open his menu. “So where do you think your grace is?” he asks. “Gotta have something to do with the ravens, right?”

“I imagine so. But since I can't sense it, I have no idea where to start looking.”

Dean just nods. “That's what I thought.”

Neither one speaks again until the waitress comes back to take their order. The ravens outside seem harmless; they're not really doing anything but sitting. Sometimes one flies off somewhere, and sometimes another one will land, but other than that it's like they're in some sort of stasis.

Just waiting.

“I don't like it,” Dean says. “Fucking conspiracy is right, Cas. Those birds are up to something.”

Cas sighs. “Dean. I believe they're just regular ravens.”

“And you'd be right, sir.”

They both look up, startled, to see an old man standing beside their booth, smiling. His voice is odd, with inflection that doesn't quite fit, and a weird overlay - like two people are talking at once. His eyes are two different colors; one a dewy brown and the other a pale, sky blue. A well-groomed gray beard covers his chin, and he's wearing a navy trenchcoat over a neat pinstriped suit.

“Excuse me?” Dean says, one eyebrow raised. There's a knife in his boot and he's ready to reach down and grab it if he needs to.

The man smiles, his hands clasped together in front of him. “Ravens,” he says. He nods out the window. “They're just regular ravens.”

“Of course,” Cas says, cautiously. “What else would they be?”

The man laughs, and his smile turns a little patronizing. “Young man,” he says. “Do you not recognize us?”

Cas blinks a few times and stares at the man for a long, silent moment. Then something clicks into place and his expression turns to something close to alarm. “Oh,” he says finally. He nods demurely. “I hope we're not intruding here.”

“Oh no, don't worry about that. We're here for the same reason you are. Drawn to something... ancient. And powerful.” The man pulls out a black raven's feather from inside his coat. He holds it by the quill and presents it to Castiel. “And I believe it belongs to you.”

“You would just return it to me. Freely.” Cas sounds a little wary, and Dean still has no idea what's going on. He holds his tongue, though, because as long as Cas doesn't act like the guy is dangerous he should probably just sit tight and shut up.

“Accept it, Castiel.” The man's tone is firm and brooks no argument. Cas stares for a moment longer before reaching out and taking the feather. It bursts outward, and Cas blinks as the dust falls onto the table. “There.” He gives Castiel a friendly pat on the shoulder. “It is yours again.”

The man nods to Cas, then to Dean, and walks to the door. He grabs his hat from the rack and then leaves the restaurant. Dean watches the window for a few seconds, but he never sees the man walk by. “Uh.” He looks at Cas. “What the hell was that?”

“These ravens are messengers,” he says. “And the man we just spoke to was not a man.”

Dean snorts. “Yeah, Cas. I got that.” Jennie comes then, with their burgers.

“Enjoy your lunch, Dean,” Cas says. “I think we're done here.”

“So that's it,” Dean says. He takes a large bite of his burger and chews. “We're just done.”

“I have my grace now,” Cas says. He shrugs, looking uncomfortable. “That's all we needed.”

“Yeah, but.” Dean gestures a little helplessly towards the window. There are still a fuckload of ravens everywhere. “What about the birds?”

“That man who spoke to me,” Cas explains. He pushes his plate away from him and folds his hands on the table. “That was Hugin and Munin, the messengers of Odin.”

“Odin,” Dean repeats.

“That's right.” Cas takes a bite of his burger and chews, almost daintily. He swallows. “They normally appear as ravens, perched on his shoulder.”

“And the other ten dozen of those little fuckers are... ?”

“I imagine they are heralds of some kind. Odin is the god of ravens. Valkyries are also associated with ravens. Perhaps the god has business here.” He bites a fry in half. “My grace was here, after all.”

“Okay, sure, but why would he be interested in that? Is an angel's grace really that powerful?”

“There are... certain uses for it,” Cas says. “And it's valuable – though perhaps not so much so in such a diluted form.”

That’s all there is to it, really. They have the grace, the ravens are harmless, and they’re in fucking West Virginia. So Dean just eats his burger. 

After they eat and pay, they go to find someplace to stay the night. They pass a group of attractive, scary-looking women that Cas tells Dean are probably valkyries. There’s probably something going on that they don’t know about - or at least Dean doesn’t know about - but nobody seems to be eating human flesh, and besides the ravens there’s not even anything weird. Not much Dean can do in the face of that.

“Shouldn’t we just head back to Bobby’s?” Cas asks. They’re in the lobby of a little hotel just off the highway, and even though it’s not late yet they’d still have to find someplace to stay later that night, so it just makes sense to spend the night in town.

“It’s like fifteen hours back,” Dean snaps. “We’ll just stay here for the night and start early tomorrow morning.”

They check in - one room, two queens - and then sit down on their respective beds. Dean turns on the television. There’s not much on, and Dean flips through a couple of channels aimlessly.

“I don’t want to stay here all night,” Cas says. “There’s an entire town here. I think I can find something to do.”

“And how are you going to get there?” Dean asks. “You’re not taking the car.”

“I can walk.”

“No offense,” Dean says, sitting up and muting the tv, “but there’s a highway right there. It’s kind of in the way.”

“Then come with me.” Cas turns the power to the tv off and opens the door. “Now.”

Dean’s first instinct is to fight. He doesn’t really want to go anywhere, there’s probably nothing to do, and they have to go out to get supper later, anyway. But Cas is standing there, determined, and letting him out by himself might actually be worse. Dean sighs. “Fine,” he says. He grabs the car keys. “Let’s get this over with.”

Where Cas wants to go, apparently, is a bookstore. It’s one of those giant chain stores, with a little coffee shop and lots of shit besides books. They look through the religious section - which Cas seems to enjoy browsing with disdain - and then head to the music section. There are only CDs, which Cas seems disappointed by, but he does pick out two or three he wants. One of them is some opera Dean hadn’t ever heard of, but Cas seems pleased so he tries to feign a modicum of interest. It doesn’t work.

Castiel is perfectly content to browse for hours, but after about forty-five minutes Dean’s antsy. “Come on, Cas,” he says, “let’s go.”

“In a minute, Dean. Be patient.”

He asks again thirty minutes later. “Cas. Seriously, man, let’s go. You must have looked at the entire store already.”

Cas looks up from what appears to be a hardcover collection of Garfield cartoons. He has his smiting face on. “Dean,” he says. “Go away.”

So Dean wanders off. He grabs a book and finds a chair, and waits for Castiel to finish whatever the hell it is he’s doing. 

They finally leave, and Cas has three new CDs and a collection of philosophical essays about some weird ideology Dean had never heard of. He’d forgone the Garfield collection, though, and picked up the book Dean had been looking at instead. It makes Dean feel weird, because he knows it’s a gift, even if technically it’s neither of their money.

After the bookstore they go grab some cheap take-out and go back to their room. It’s a pretty quiet night, boring, though they end up watching some old movies that come on until about midnight.

There’s still something not quite comfortable about being alone with Castiel, but to Dean’s surprise, it’s nice. 

They go to bed, but there aren’t any dreams. Dean tries to pretend he’s not a little disappointed.

* * *

The drive back is much less pleasant. About four or five hours in the air conditioning stops working, and even though it’s not high summer, it’s still warmer than is really comfortable. Things have been tense since they were in _The Boar_ , though if Dean’s being honest things were weird even before that. They’re both irritable and it doesn’t take long before they start snapping. That, combined with the heat, brings whatever is bubbling under the surface up to a rolling boil.

“It’s so fucking hot,” Dean says, fanning himself with his hand. Cas gives him a sharp, exasperated look. Dean has been complaining for a little over an hour and even though he knows it’s driving Cas up the wall, he can’t help himself.

“Complaining about it isn’t going to make it any cooler.”

“Jesus,” Dean says, “I know that. Just finish pumping the fucking gas and let’s go. At least we’ve got some water now.”

Cas rolls his eyes but doesn’t press the point any further. It takes another minute for the car to fill up, and then they’re back on the road. It’s still hot, the seats warmed from the sun. The denim jeans they wear stick to their bodies, and Dean groans again, shaking his head from side to side. 

“Do you want to pull over and let me drive?”

“No,” Dean says, sounding a little peeved, “I’m fine. And you still don’t know how to drive, anyway.”

“You don’t sound fine.”

“Well maybe you should check your ears, then, because I _said_ I’m fucking _fine_.”

“If you’re ‘fine’ then,” Cas says, snappishly, making air quotes around the word _fine_ , “stop complaining. It’s becoming as unbearable as the heat.”

“Oh, well, I’m sorry that I’m harshing your buzz, princess, but if it’s fucking hot then I’m going to say something about it!”

“Stop being an asshole!”

“Goddamn it, Cas, stop fucking complaining about me complaining.”

“Pull over.”

Dean doesn’t look at him. “No.”

“Dean. Pull the car. Over.”

“I said no.”

Cas grabs the wheel and turns it hard to the right. 

“What the fuck,” Dean says, slowing the car and pulling off to the shoulder. They both get out. “Cas, you can’t just do that, you dumb bastard. You want to get us killed?”

“If you’re not going to stop complaining, then get in the back and go to sleep. And I’ll drive.”

“I told you. I’m not letting you drive my baby.”

“Driving isn’t that difficult, I’m sure. I understand the basics already. And it’s just a car, Dean.”

“Yeah, it’s just a car, and it’s _mine_ , Cas; it’s a fucking awesome piece of machinery.”

Cas pushes him on the shoulder, hard. Dean stumbles back, towards the road. Once he regains his footing he storms back over to Cas and shoots his fist out, landing in the middle of Cas’s chest. Cas growls and punches back, knocking against Dean’s jaw. 

“You... stupid fucker,” Dean says, dodging out of the way of another blow. “I’m the one being an asshole? I’m not the one who’s picking a goddamn fight!”

“You drove me to it,” Cas answers, his voice even deeper than it usually is. He’s light on his feet and fast, and even though Dean’s sure he’s been in more fist fights, he’s not entirely certain he can end this without any serious injury. Cas seems serious - apparently, he’d been more pissed off than Dean had realized. 

“Well you sure are handling your anger well, fuck you very much.” He hits Cas in the stomach and Cas wheezes, losing his breath.

That is enough to drive him to some deep inner well of strength, apparently, because the next thing Dean knows, Cas has a fistful of his shirt and is pressing him up against the driver’s side door of the impala. Their bodies are pressed tight together, barely any space between them, and Dean swallows hard. “You,” Cas says, pulling his face towards him so they’re practically nose to nose, “are fucking _impossible_.” And then - and holy shit, Dean really should have expected it - Cas kisses him.

Or maybe it would be more accurate to say that he launches a full out assault on his mouth, because it’s not sweet or gentle, it’s rough and hard and so, so _angry_. Their teeth hit against each other, and then Cas bites Dean’s bottom lip hard, pulling on it and then letting it go, running his tongue along the indentations left by his teeth. He still has a tight hold on Dean and he pulls him even closer, and Dean can feel the hard line of his body, and the hard line of his cock in his jeans. 

Cas is a motherfucking pro at this kissing thing - and when did _that_ happen, Dean wonders. Or maybe he’s just like the hulk, except that you really, really, really _would_ like him when he’s angry. He fucks into Dean’s mouth with a wet, purposeful tongue, and Dean lets out a strangled sound of protest that even to his ears comes out more like a whimper. Okay, yeah, he might be enjoying it more than he wants to admit. It’s fucking hot to have Cas go all caveman on him, even if a big part of Dean is telling him to wrest back control. It doesn’t seem like that would go over well with Cas anyway.

Suddenly, and without any warning - because shit, Dean had just really started to get into it, too - Cas pulls away. “Impossible,” he says again, his mouth red and shiny with spit. It’s a good look for him. He takes a step away. “If there wasn’t a truck coming I’d be fucking you on the hood of your car.” He lets that sink in for a second, then snatches the keys out of Dean’s pocket.

“So what,” Dean says, feeling a little dumb-founded and maybe a lot aroused. He decides just to let the infraction with the keys go; Cas probably won’t give them back, anyway. “We go on our first hunt, just the two of us, and all we have to fucking tell Sam is that you wanted to take me in a manly fashion?”

Cas doesn’t look at him. “Just get in the damn car.”

* * *

The Cretan bull turns out to be a chimera. They manage to kill it, but Sam gets his arm broken in the process. Bobby reminds them that they’re all idjits, but drives them all to the hospital anyway and then lets them come back to his house to crash. Dean calls Lisa twice that week, but never gets around to mentioning what happened with Cas. 

As soon as Sam’s recovered they’re off hunting again, and after taking care of a haunting they run into a crazy alchemist. He’s got five little homunculi running around, which turn out to be the mares of Diomedes. The bastards go after Dean, and they’re surprisingly strong for how small they are, but Sam and Cas run in guns blazing and destroy the things. That piece of grace is in a medallion the alchemist had; they snatch it and leave the crazy old bastard to deal with his mess on his own.

The belt of Hippolyta they get from actual fucking Amazons. This hunt's a little more complicated, with murders and dismembered corpses, and without Cas it probably would have taken a lot longer to figure out what was going on. But they got the grace - which was in an actual belt, too - even if the Amazons got away.

There aren't any cattle involved in the next labor, fortunately, though there is somebody who's a damn close equivalent to Geryon. It's a witch, a crazy old fucker who's made it his habit to collect supernatural oddities. The latest in his collection is a piece of Castiel's grace, crystallized in a piece of quartz. He's smart enough to figure out that it's something big, something rare and valuable; it doesn't take him long to get a good idea of what it is exactly he's got. That's not enough, though, and instead of being content with just a piece of angelic grace he decides he wants his own fallen angel to go along with it. He sets a trap for Cas, but he uses the reserves on his old angel batteries and zaps away. Sam and Dean rush in to crash Geryon's party - which is what Dean insists on calling him, though actually they find out his name is Erik - and find the guy in some kind of crazy witch rage, screaming about his precious collection. His house is creepy as fuck, like some supernatural museum. He's got a jackalope head, locks of hair from a few extremely powerful witches, and the claw of a dragon. And that's just in the first room. He gets away, but not before they break open the crystal and get Cas's grace. So even if Dean didn't get to gank a witch, he still considers it a win.

The next labor is even better. It turns out to the apple _pie_ of the Hesperides, and they have to deal with a haunted bakery. It's actually pretty awesome. Apparently the owner of the bakery had some great, bitter rivalry with an old friend of hers over whose pies where better. The owner - Anita Lassiter - had won some contest, and then her friend had died in a mysterious baking accident. It turns out to be true, as screwy as the story is, but Mrs. Cumberland comes back as a ghost bent on revenge. They find the grace in a pie, and actual apple pie, and Cas claims he has to eat it all by himself. Dean's okay with that, though, because Anita's so grateful she gives them all the pies she has in the store. For free.

"You got paid in pie," Bobby says, looking at his kitchen table, which is positively overrun with baked goods. 

"Hey," Dean says, his cheeks bulging with half-eaten pie, "most people don't pay us at all, so I say we take what we can get."

Sam stares at him with an expression of disbelief on his face, like he can't quite believe one man can fit that much in his mouth at one time. "You do seem to be taking all of it."

Dean swallows. "Sorry, man, you want a slice?" Sam laughs and shakes his head, but Bobby accepts. "Goddamn," Dean says. "This is good pie."

xxx

"Hey, Cas." Sam turns his laptop so Cas can see the screen. "This look like it could be the final task? It's a haunted animal hospital."

"Dogs," Dean says loudly from the living room. "Gotta be it, right? We're down to Cerberus."

"Dean's right," Cas says. "Thank you, Sam. This may be it; the last piece of grace I need to complete Demeter's labors."

Sam gives him a quick smile. "Let's just hope Dean doesn't break another vase."

"Hey! I heard that, bitch."

Sam rolls his eyes. "Jerk."

Even though it's just a simple haunting, it feels pretty momentous. Bobby gives Cas a gruff "Good luck," when they leave, and even Hercules seems friendlier than usual, rubbing against Cas's legs as they walk out the door.

They drive out to the animal hospital. It's a pretty easy job; the woman Bobby had talked to on the phone - because apparently he also runs some sort of Ghostfacers type website to field potential hunts, except his of course is actually legit - had realized it was a ghost and hired them, so there was no need to break out the fake I.D.s or come up with a cover story. They get there and find three ghosts: two dogs and an old man who'd once been a dog groomer. Easy enough to take care of, but once the ghosts are gone, there isn't any sign of Castiel's grace.

"I don't understand," he whispers to Dean. "There's nothing here."

"You just can't sense it, right?" Dean glances over at Sam and the young veterinary tech, making sure she can't overhear. "We just have to find it."

"No." Cas grabs his arm. "Dean, it's _not here_."

"Oh." Dean clears his throat and pulls his arm out of Cas's grip. He pats his friend on the shoulder. "Well don't worry. We've been at dead ends before; we'll find it."

Cas doesn't seem convinced, but he doesn't press the issue, just nodding and turning back to Sam. 

It turned out that in addition to getting paid for the work they'd done, Sam had gotten a date. He and Valerie the vet tech - who is a buxom, blue-eyed beauty nearly as tall as Dean - are going out to the bar nearby. She invites Dean and Cas to come along, too, and after locking up she and Sam climb into her car and tell them to meet them there.

"She's hot," Dean says, pulling out. "Score one for Sammy."

"I don't like bars much," Cas says, the expression on his face sour. 

Dean laughs. "You'll like them better if you don't get drunk off your ass every time you go. Just watch me and try not to drink more than I do."

They have a good time and it's obvious that Valerie is really into Sam. He's flirting, and he keeps touching her arm. She laughs and flirts back and by the time Cas has decided he's ready to go, it's pretty obvious that one of them's taking the other home. Dean glances at Cas, in the front seat of the Impala next to him. He probably won't get as lucky.

They find what looks like a little bed and breakfast near a lack. It's surprisingly scenic and after they check in - two rooms this time, because they only have single beds and even if Dean's okay with admitting that Cas is really goddamn pretty, he's not sure he wants everyone else to know that - Dean calls Sam and gives him the address. Sam's voice is slurred with alcohol, and Dean can hear Valerie in the background, murmuring something that Dean never wanted to know his little brother was going to do with someone.

There's a moment, when Dean thinks Cas might break their silent agreement not to talk about what happened. They're standing outside the door to Cas's room, and he opens the door, then glances back at Dean. Dean waits.

"Goodnight," Cas says, his voice heavy. He gives Dean a tight smile and then he steps in and quickly shuts the door.

"Goddamnit," Dean curses, hitting his fist against the wall. A picture of one of those babies dressed as flowers rattles and he sighs. Might as well get some sleep, he thinks. He goes to his own room across the hall. It's decorated in some sort of kitschy nautical style, everything blue and white, a decorative anchor hanging on the wall at the head of the bed and a little wooden boat filled with towels and soaps sitting on the counter in the bathroom. 

Dean pulls off his boots and settles back on the big, cushy bed. The comforter is downy and soft, and there are at least six pillows of various sizes. There's a wicker armoire against the opposite wall, and Dean opens it. His expectations are confirmed; there's a television and a DVD player, with a couple of DVDs laying on top of it. The proprietor apparently picked a movie from nearly every genre, because there's "When Harry Met Sally," "The Dirty Dozen," the 2008 Star Trek movie, and Stephen King's "It." Dean snorts at the last one, because with all the shit they've seen he still can't believe Sam's afraid of clowns. 

He picks one and puts it on, then falls asleep to the low hum of the television.

It's about three or four in the morning when he wakes up to an eerie green light streaming in his window.

"What the fuck is this," he grumbles, sitting up slow. He'd fallen asleep in his clothes and probably in a weird position from the ache in his back. He yawns and stretches as he stands and heads to the window.

It only takes one glance, but as soon as he makes sens of what he sees he's awake. It's Cas, down by the edge of the lack, surrounded by three pale figures in long, flowing dresses. Their hair is black, and so long it nearly touches the ground. And they're all glowing.

"Cas!" The window won't open, and Cas can't hear him. He jams his feet into his shoes and runs, bolting into the hallway and down the stairs. The front door's locked, but he undoes it quickly and starts as fast as he can toward the lake.

"Cas!" he calls. "Cas, are you okay?"

"Stay back, Dean," Cas says. The three women have him surrounded on three sides, and the lake's at his back. Dean isn't sure what exactly he plans on doing, because without back-up it really looks like Cas is in serious trouble.

"No way," Dean says. He's at the edge of the circle, only about ten fee from the women. Now that he can see them, he can tell what the women really are.

Banshees.

"Shit," he says, a cold feeling washing over him. He knows what banshees do; they foretell death. _Death_. And if three of them are there for Cas? Dean doesn't know what it means, but he knows it can't be good.

"Dean." Cas looks pale, and his voice is hoarse. The green glow is getting brighter, and the banshees lift up their arms, pointed up towards the sky right above Cas. "Dean it's all right. It's all right." He swallows and looks up. There's something forming where the banshees hands are pointing. It's a cloud, a white, smoky mass littered with flecks of gold. Something in it shimmers, iridescent, and Cas's mouth opens, staring up at the bright swirl above me. "This," he says, "is Cerberus. This is the last labor. And that..." He points upwards, to where the mass of milky haze has started to rotate. "That is the last piece of grace."

Dean gapes, staring as the banshees open their mouths wide, wider than any human mouth would ever be able to go. And they begin to wail.

It starts low, a rumble that's only barely audible. But then it picks up, growing in volume until Dean's ears start to ring. The sound is agonizing, mournful and unending, and he falls to his knees, clapping his hands over his ears. "Cas," he screams. "Get out of there. Move, you idiot. I'm not going to let you die!"

But Cas doesn't answer him, doesn't even seem to hear. The grace above him is solidifying, becoming more and more like a cloud. It's streaked through with gold and green, and the banshees look up at it, their arms still raised, almost worshipful. Cas spreads his arms out wide, and then thick, feathery wings burst from his back. They're as beautiful as Dean remembers, huge and glorious, the tip of each feather shining with otherworldly golden light. And then the grace swirling above them sinks down, engulfing the wings in a nebulous, hazy white.

Cas's screams join the banshees and Dean's head starts to pound. He sinks further down until he's laying on the ground. His vision starts blacking out, and as hard as he tries to remain conscious he's fading fast. The last thing he remembers, before he passes out, is an explosion of feathers, falling from the sky like rain.

* * *

When Dean wakes up again, it's late morning. He groans, putting a hand on his aching head. He feels like he drank his weight in whiskey the night before, but he knows that's not what happened.

"Hello, Dean."

He looks up to see Cas, standing above him. He looks tired, his eyes red like maybe he's been crying. Dean gets up slowly and looks around. There's no sign of the banshees, and Cas is there, so apparently he'd gotten away safe without Dean. On the ground, though, is clear evidence of what happened. 

There are feathers - hundreds of feathers, some covering the grass and some floating in the lake.

"Cas," Dean says. His voice shakes a little as he imagines what his friend must feel - what he must have lost. "Are those... ?"

"My wings," Cas says. His voice is hard, his tone clipped. He meets Dean's eyes. "I'm human now, completely human." Dean opens his mouth - maybe the sympathize, maybe to say _something_ , he has no clue what the fuck would be appropriate to say in this situation - but Cas shakes his head. "I don't want to talk about it," he says. He picks up a few of the feathers and hands them to Dean. Dean's not sure what to do, so he sticks them in his pocket. "I just want to go home - back to Bobby's."

"Yeah," Dean says. He swallows, thick, and claps Cas on the back. Cas grabs a hold of his shirt, tight, and doesn't let go. They're not quite touching, but they're close, and Dean can feel the heat of him, can smell the scent of grass clinging to him from his night on the lawn. "I'll call Sam."

* * *

Dean knows he’s dreaming.

He’s not sure how he knows, thinks he probably shouldn't be able to, but he knows he's in his bed at Bobby's and that everything he sees is happening in his head. He's in the same forest as before, in the same clothes he was wearing that day, has the bare feet he remembers from the other dreams in the same place

He feels the same impulse: the one that tells him to run. But this time, he ignores it. He's not sure why, but he's pretty sure that this time he's the one in control.

“Cas!” he calls. “Or tiger! Cas-tiger. Castiel. Tigerstiel. Come out.”

The tiger stalks out, licking at its jowls with its big, wet tongue. His walk is measured, purposeful, and his eyes burn into Dean. 

“Uh... Hey, do you think that, um. Maybe you could not be a fucking tiger.” Dean has actually practiced this in his head a time or two, ever since the drive back from the ravens, had thought about what he’d say if he ever had this dream again, but now that it’s happening he can’t remember any of it. His mouth suddenly feels a little dry.

_You dreamed this yourself, Dean. I had no part in this world’s creation this time, you only called me here._

“Yeah, I know. I mean... I don't know _how_. Didn't think you'd be able to do this anymore when you were human, anyway, but. Um. Since we're here...” He looks away and clears his throat, his hand playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. Christ, this is a lot more awkward than he thought it’d be. “If you’re going to do to me whatever the hell it is you do here usually, I want you to be at least... at least human-shaped. I don't want you to be some gigantic monster cat.”

 _I'm not a monster. He who made the lamb made me_ , the tiger thinks at him, a little peevishly, and isn’t that just fucking like Cas. His tail flicks again and Dean wonders again if Cas gets off on the whole tiger thing, or if this time he’s just deliberately misunderstanding. The tiger makes a sound that is far too much like a sigh. _Dean,_ it thinks, _I am not... I_ was _not... a man._

And Dean knows that, of course he knows, just like he knows Cas isn’t a tiger, or another Impala, or fire, or that weird mermaid-bird thing he’d dreamed about one time. He's always been more, even if know he's been a little downgraded. 

But Dean will be the first to tell anyone who asks that he’s nothing if not a simple man, and since it's his dream, he wants to dream-fuck Cas, and he wants a human body to look at while he does it.

The tiger twitches its ears. _You are thinking of sexual congress._

Fucking awkward Castiel. “Yes,” Dean says, sounding exasperated. Hell, he’s starting to feel exasperated, too. “That’s what I meant.” He walks up to the tiger and holds his hand out. It’s almost trembling, and he’s not sure why, but all of a sudden he’s... damn it, he’s nervous. He reaches out and touches the beast’s nose with the palm of his hand. The glow around it starts to shimmer, and the tiger’s outline seems hazy.

 _Dean,_ it thinks, and he can sense something close to hesitation in the communication. _I..._

Dean breathes in deep and closes his eyes, reaching out for what he hopes is skin instead of fur.

And then he wakes up.

He blinks up at the ceiling and sighs. Cas had no problem before, but apparently when Dean initiates it, when it's overt, and not just an instance of pent-up sexual frustration finally breaking free, he can't handle it. Dean's head hurts and he wonders how awkward it's going to be if he tries to bring this up at breakfast. It’s early, still, not even dawn, and he can probably catch a few more hours of sleep before everybody starts getting up. But he's not really tired.

 _Damn it, Cas_ , he thinks, even though he knows Cas won't be able to hear him. _That was really shitty of you, you coward. You gotta step up and be a fucking man._ He knows Cas wants him, too, he knew even before Cas threw him against his car, even if he hadn't wanted to admit it. But it seems like getting _Cas_ to admit that is going to be much, much harder than he thought.

He just wants to make sure the asshole's okay, too - make sure he's adjusting to being human. Even if he's been heading towards it for months, finally hitting that final wall can't have been easy.

First, though. He has to do something he knows he should have done a long time ago. Even if he and Lisa hadn't been an official anything, there had still been a Dean-and-Lisa. He thinks he might love her, even though it's not really how she deserves to be loved. It's the idea of her that he loves, maybe. The idea of a beautiful woman and a great kid and a house in the suburbs. Perfect apple pie life.

He picks up his phone and dials.

"Dean?" Lisa sounds muzzy and confused - not that Dean can really blame her. It's got to be about five in the morning. "What the hell are you doing, calling me at this hour? Do you know what time it is?"

"Oh, uh, yeah." He laughs, but he doesn't really feel it. "I guess I wasn't really... Well, I was awake, so..."

"Dean." Lisa's tone is serious, the anger cooling. "What's going on?"

"Sorry, Lisa, it's just." He sighs. "I think we need to talk."

She's quiet for a long time. "You're not coming back, are you? This is it. This is the break-up." Dean feels like shit, and he knows Ben's probably going to hate him, and be totally justified in doing it. 

"I still care about you, Lisa. And Ben, too."

"I know, Dean. I never doubted that. I mean... I wasn't sure if we'd be good for you, wondered a couple of times if you'd be good for us. But I never doubted that you cared." She makes a thoughtful noise. "There's actually this guy. Matt."

"Oh." Dean's a little surprised, though he knows he shouldn't be. He has Cas, of course it's likely Lisa would find somebody, too. "He a good guy?"

"Think so," Lisa says. Dean can hear the smile in her voice. "He likes Ben, and he's a doctor."

"So full package then, huh?"

"Yep." She weighs her next words carefully. "You know, you can... It's not like I hate you for leaving, Dean. I don't blame you. And if I wanted you to stay - if I really thought I could ever make you stay - I'd have told you."

"God, Lisa," he says, half on a laugh, "I really don't deserve."

"Hey, Ben liked you. That's good enough for me. Sex wasn't half bad, either."

Dean chuckles. "That's true. We were damn good together."

"Is there... somebody else for you?"

"There might be," Dean says, past the lump in his throat. "I don't... It's kind of up in the air, you know?"

Lisa's voice is sympathetic, way more sympathetic than he knows he deserves. That Matt guy must be fucking amazing. "Well good luck, whatever happens."

"Yeah, uh. Thanks, Lisa. Really."

"You want to talk to Ben later? It'll give you a chance to apologize."

Dean groans. "Guess I should apologize, huh? I'll call later to talk to him, I promise."

"Good. I think he knew something was up when you started sending gifts to him along with the postcards. He's a little angry with you, I'm not going to lie, but I think he's still hoping you'll be back. You made a big impression on him."

"He's..." Dean clears his throat. "He's a great kid."

"Thanks," Lisa said. "Like to think I had a little something to do with that."

Dean laughs. And suddenly he feels lighter. He's a dick, he thinks, and he's still worried that he's throwing away his best chance at a family but it's not like he doesn't have anyone. He has Sam - he'll _always_ have Sam, no matter what - and Bobby, and he has Cas. Yeah. He has Cas. "Sorry for calling so early, Lisa," he says. "I'll talk to you later, okay? And I'll talk to Ben. Promise."

"It's fine. Goodbye Dean."

"Yeah. Goodbye."

* * *

Dean shoves his phone back into his pocket. “Okay,” he says. “That’s, uh... that, I guess.”

Sam looks at him, eyebrow raised. “You and Lisa are over, huh? I could hear Ben yelling from over here.”

Dean shrugs, looking uncomfortable and obviously not wanting to talk about it. “Looks like.”

Sam nods. “Figured as much when you started sending him stuff besides just the postcards. I thought it was probably guilt.” 

"Well, Christ." Dean rolls his eyes at his brother. "Lisa said the exact same thing. Was it really that obvious?"

"Sorry, boy," Bobby says, not looking up from his newspaper. "But you ain't ever been a master of subtlety."

Neither Sam or Cas jump to his defense, so Dean decides to just let that one go. 

They spend the rest of the day lounging around Bobby's place. It's almost completely their place now, too, even though Bobby still hasn't issued an official invitation. Sam's been looking at online schools, and both brothers have played with the idea of maybe finding a part-time job in town. What Cas is going to do no one knows, but he'll be all right. And they can all still hunt. Dean's not sure they'll ever stop being hunters, no matter what else they do.

After supper Bobby takes a bottle of whiskey and disappears, and Sam takes his laptop to his bedroom. Cas wanders outside and after a minute - and checking to make sure no one sees him doing it - Dean follows him.

“Hey,” he says, sitting next to Cas on the porch. Cas is looking up at the sky, his hands folded in his lap.

Cas turns to him and gives him a blank look - but he doesn’t tell him to leave. Their legs are pressed together and it makes Dean a little twitchy, the urge to reach out and touch Cas making the back of his neck hot and his palms sweaty. “Hello, Dean.”

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing.” Cas looks back towards the sky. “Star-gazing.”

“Ahh.”

Dean sits with him silently for a long moment, looking up at the stars that have Cas so entranced. It’s a nice night, Dean’ll give him that.

“Did you need something?” Cas asks.

Dean lets out a deep sigh. “No,” he says, and he’s aware suddenly that it’s a lie. Cas still doesn’t look at him. Dean licks his lips and makes a decision before he’s even conscious that it’s there to make. “Yes. You. I thought we could talk maybe. About stuff. You and me stuff.”

There's that master of subtlety Bobby mentioned, but Dean's started this, so he might as well see it through. Cas shakes his head. "Dean, I don't..." He looks down at his hands, helplessly. "I don't know what you want from me." Cas doesn't continue, but Dean can tell he's got more to say. "I'm human now," he says. "I can... Actually, there are still pieces of my grace out there. If I find them, if I take them in, I think I may regain some of my power. I won't be - I'll never be - what I was. But I can be more than..." His nose wrinkles and he looks down at his body in distaste. "More than this."

"Hey, humanity's not so bad," Dean says. "And don't sell yourself short; your body's not so bad, either."

Cas huffs. "Dean. Be serious."

"Dude, I _am_." He stands up, looking down at Cas. "I am being serious. Do you think I don't want you, Cas? Do you think I'm lying, that I'm messing with you? I don't care if you're human or an angel or whatever. You're Cas. You're just..." He shrugs, the momentum leaving him all in a rush. He looks away. "You're Cas."

Cas doesn't say anything and Dean's not exactly sure what his outburst accomplished, if anything, but he feels better. Then, Cas hooks a finger through one of his belt loops and pulls. Dean sits back down beside him. "You know," Cas says conversationally, looking back out to the stars, "if I did regain some power, I wouldn't be quite so human anymore. I'd be superhuman."

"Dude." Dean grins. "You'd be like Superman." Cas smiles back. "Wait, though. What the hell would that make me: Lois Lane?" Cas laughs, then, so hard his whole body moves with it, and Dean feels a little light-headed.

"No," Cas says. "You're Batman."

"Yeah." Dean bumps his shoulder companionably. "I'm Batman."

Cas stands up then, looking serious. Dean isn't sure what causes the change so suddenly. "That night, with the banshees..." He makes a pained face and something in Dean aches for him. "When I awoke, I found these." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a handful of seeds. "I believe this is Demeter wishes to be honored."

Dean looks skeptical. "Are you going to plant them?"

"Yes. And Dean..." Cas smiles like he has a secret and Dean wants, painfully and viscerally, to go over and kiss the hell out of him. "When dawn breaks, come find me. I'll be out here."

* * *

When Cas said "find me" Dean hadn't really thought he'd actually have to do much looking. He wakes up to an alarm right about the time the sun rises. Second day in a row, he thinks, shaking his head, but he knows Cas'll make it worth it. At least he better, or Dean's going to kick his ass. He pulls on his clothes and heads outside.

Where, instead of the normal salvage yard, there is a huge expanse of wheat.

It's _wheat_.

Dean's not really sure what to make of that.

"Uh, Cas?" he calls, half unsure. "You in there somewhere?"

"This way, Dean," Cas calls back. "Follow my voice."

It's about five and a half feet tall, he guesses, so he should be able to see Cas over it, at least the top of his head, but there's no sign of him. Dean plunges into the wheat anyway, though, hoping that the Cas he's hearing isn't some weird mirage. He gets to the center, though, and there's a big circle, the stalks pressed down. It's just like a crop circle, and Dean wonders what the hell exactly it is Demeter wanted to be thanked with.

Castiel is sitting there, though, his legs folded, a bowl of ash in front of him. 

"It's done," he says, standing up and wiping his hands. He looks up at Dean. Dean stares back, watches as Cas's eyes go dark. And okay, the wheat? Whatever Cas had burning? Dean doesn't get that at all. But _this_? The warmth in his belly, the tension curling up around them, the way Cas's breath gets heavy and the front of his jeans gets tight?

Dean knows exactly how to deal with that.

**xxx**

"Dean?" Sam pushes wheat out of the way, parting it on either side as he stumbles through the new growth. He has no idea what the hell's going on, and neither does Bobby. But he does know Dean is missing, and that sure as fuck is not going to fly. "Dean?" he tries again. "Are you here?"

He can see something up ahead, just over the stalks. He continues forward and pushes through into a flat circle in the center of the yard. And he finds Dean, all right. Cas, too.

Because they're there. And they are really, really obviously having sex in front of him.

"Ahh!" Sam screams and stumbles back, covering his eyes with his forearm. "What the hell, guys?! Are you just... You're having sex. With each other. In the middle of a field of wheat."

Dean laughs, hard, his arms spread out on the ground like wings and his legs wrapped around Cas's sides.

Cas is scarcely more composed, one hand around Dean's cock and the other pressed against the handprint he made on Dean's shoulder. It is an image Sam could have gone his _entire life_ without seeing. 

"You are very perceptive," Cas says. Dean just keeps laughing.

Sam turns around so his back is to them. "Don't laugh, Dean," he snaps. "You just disappeared. Me and Bobby were worried when we couldn't find you. And how did... How did this wheat get here, anyway?"

"It is my offering to Demeter," Cas explains. Dean makes a noise that suggests they have continued their activities despite Sam's presence. He really, really, really hopes that isn't true.

"Oh, well. That's fine, then," Sam says, knowing - and not caring - that he sounds pissy. "Hey, Bobby!" he calls, "It's fine! I found Dean. He's just here, fucking Cas, in a field of Demeter's _wheat_!"

That's apparently enough to make Dean burst out again, raucously, and this time Cas joins him. Sam wants brain bleach and maybe something to gouge out his eyes, but hearing them laughing together tells him that this is good. That, whatever else they might be - and since they are fucking outside on wheat meant to honor a goddess Sam is going to add disgusting and possibly stupid to the top of that list - they're happy. 

Dean's happy. And that's enough for Sam.

"I'm going inside," he says. "You can just..." He waves a hand vaguely in their direction. "You know what? I don't care. I don't care what you do. I'm going inside."

Dean's still laughing as Sam walks away, and Cas kisses the corner of his mouth, warm and wet.

"You know, there were probably better ways to break this to him."

"Yes," Cas says, biting hard at Dean's jaw. "But... We can worry about that later."

He digs his fingernails into Dean's skin, his hand fitted over his handprint. Dean gasps. Yeah, he thinks, feeling Cas's hips snap, pushing into him. Later.

They have all the laters in the world.


End file.
